


Burden or blessing

by EnlacingLines



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety, Canon-Typical Violence, Childhood Friends, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Mental Health Issues, More tags to be added, Pining, Slow Burn, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, by that I mean Miklan, canon angst, eventually
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-06
Updated: 2020-09-07
Packaged: 2021-01-24 10:27:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 80,619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21336733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EnlacingLines/pseuds/EnlacingLines
Summary: “Your mark is something wonderful, Sylvain. I know your father and Miklan...I know it doesn’t seem like it is now, but you will see it one day. And it’s your soulmark, remember that. Not anyone else's.”Sylvain is six when his soulmark appears, and although he has some recollections of the time before this, they all seem to pale and fade against the downwards spiral that begins on this day.The day his life stops being his own and belongs to other people. Including someone he's never met, who he isn't sure he ever wants to.A Sylvix soulmate AU.
Relationships: Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Comments: 237
Kudos: 703





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Finally dipping into the multichapter world of Sylvix fic. The chapter count is based on my current outline (hahahha) so may change in the future. 
> 
> The burn is slow, the angst will come, but there's a happy ending in sight. 
> 
> A thank you to Zen, who gave me an inspiration boost when I was trying to name this fic! And all the love and thanks in the world to my amazing beta, Audrey. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

He remembers the first day it appears. Sylvain is six, and although he has some recollections of the time before this, they all seem to pale and fade against the downwards spiral that begins on this day. 

The day his soulmark appears. 

At first, he doesn’t see it. It flashes in and out of his vision all day as he runs and chases imaginary friends and foes through the gardens. But then, as the sky dims and his legs finally tire, he sits down on the lawn just outside of the house and turns over his arm. 

He remembers initially, puzzlement. For he didn’t draw it on himself, didn’t see anything that could make that type of mark. It’s a circle, broken up by jagged flaring lines that make him think of spiders legs. It has two smaller legs on either side, and lines through the top and the bottom. It means nothing to him, but equally, it sort of fits. He waves his arm a bit, watches it move with him, and giggles. 

This time, it stays on his arm. But when Miklan yells that he’s late for dinner, Sylvain feels a rush of sudden, paralysing worry. It’s fine when the mark is just on his skin and no one else can see, but it’s not something easy to hide. His hand can barely cover the length of it, but he tries, keeping his arm tucked in as he runs to catch up with his elder brother. 

It’s Saturday, which means family dinner, or really the only time he ever sees his parents, since his mother and father spend all week doing whatever important jobs they do in the city. He hopes that, as is often the case, his father is too absorbed in grilling Miklan about school, but luck is not on his side as he slides into his seat. 

“Sylvain, what is wrong with your arm?” 

Sylvain gulps, staring at the wood of the table. He doesn’t know why this feels like a secret, like something that isn’t for anyone but him. 

“Nothing, it’s fine,” he says, voice carrying in the hollow room despite his quiet tone. 

“Well then, no need to hold it like that, have some manners at the table,” his father replies, with the usual air of disappointment that comes with an address. 

There is no way of him hiding the mark now, he knows this. But it still takes him a moment to stop holding it, to put his hands at the correct posture, unable to make eye contact with anyone else in the room. 

It’s obvious as soon as they notice. Miklan starts to speak, his mother gasps but it’s all covered by the scrape of his father chair as he stands and marches to him. Sylvain’s head snaps up in fear, for no one gets up at Saturday dinner, no one. 

His mind is jumping for some sort of excuse or explanation he doesn’t have, but to his surprise, his father bends down to his height and moves the chair forward. 

“Show me,” he says. It’s a demand, but oddly softer than any usual order, so although he’s confused and a little scared by this, he turns over his arm as bid. 

The mark is just as stark as before, and his father exhales shakily as his hand comes to trace across the lines and circles. 

“Good...this is good. Excellent, even,” he says to the shape, not as even years later he remembers with a bitter taste, to Sylvain. 

From then, the evening blurs with time. He recalls sitting in a room feeling hungry, arm splayed out under the blue eerie light of a small identification device, his father and a man he now does not remember the name of discussing him while he sits invisible. He remembers his mother kissing the top of his head as she enters. 

“What is the mark?” he asks then. 

They all stop, and his father takes over, coming into his view. 

“This is your soulmark, Sylvain. It connects you with someone in this world, and thankfully, it appears it will be someone powerful,” he says, all smiles that reach his eyes. 

Sylvain smiles too. For making his father smile is a rare thing and for once he’s actually been the one to do it. 

“I’m connected to someone?” he asks. 

At six, he hasn’t really met many other people. The house is far away from anyone, and all he has is Miklan, who goes to school in the week and calls Sylvain a baby most of the time, his au pair and the series of friends he makes up in his head during the day. The thought of there being another person out there who he can meet, be friends with, play Knights and Dragons with, is more exciting than anything. 

“You will make a powerful match, it’s clear. That’s an old symbol, even if it is a minor mark. And the older the symbol, the more revered the bloodline,” his father says, standing up and ruffling his hair as he leaves. 

That doesn’t actually answer his questions, but they don’t really speak to him again. So Sylvain just settles into the tiny snippets of information they do give him. 

He has a soulmark, it connects him with someone, which excites his father in particular. His mark is ‘minor’ which he only understands as it isn’t always on his skin, proven the next day when he wakes up and it’s vanished once more. 

The next set of memories must happen only a week after. It starts when he’s in his father’s study, holding his arm under the identification light. As the blue light hits his skin, the mark emerges, every time without fail. 

“You think you’re so special.” 

Sylvain jumps, arm bashing painfully into the machine as he backs away. In the doorway stands Miklan, glaring with his arms crossed. He seems so tall, the years that separate them have always made the distance wide, but now it seems like a gaping chasm as his older brother stalks over. 

“I-I’m not. I just wanted to see,” Sylvain says, as his brother glares down at him. 

Miklan hisses as grabs for Sylvain’s arm, hard enough to wrench the shoulder, pain rippling through and causing him to cry out as he stumbles forward. 

“Stop being a baby, let me see,” he says, twisting his arm around, again too sharp a movement to be anything other than harmful. 

But there isn’t anything to see, and tears prick at Sylvain’s eyes as his brother’s fingers claw into his wrist. 

“It’s only a minor mark, I don’t get why you’re so perfect. Can barely see anything without the light. You’re nothing interesting at all,” he says, and pulls Sylvain forward again. 

This time it really hurts, in multiple places from the scratches, the pull and the angle. 

“Let go! You’re hurting me!” Sylvain yells, stumbling with tears beginning to fall. 

Miklan laughs and doesn’t listen, only squeezing harder until Sylvain is fully crying, sobs rising as he feels his arm go bright with heat as his brothers nails dig in. 

“Oh shut up, Sylvain! If you’re so amazing why do-”

“MIKLAN!” 

The pain abruptly vanishes and Sylvain falls to the ground, crying himself hoarse as his father’s shout echoes. He buries his head into the carpet and cradles his arm into his chest, hearing muffled shouts and others cries as he sits in his own bubble of shock and hurt. 

“Sylvain...shh, Sylvain, sit up, let me see.” 

He hears the voice of his aupair, Tilda, seeping through. It’s a comfort in the midst of the terrors of the last few minutes, and after a few more lines of coaxing, he manages to sit up and bare his arm for inspection. 

There are large scratches over his arm, lines of blood running down the skin which is red and raw from where it’s been pulled. His shoulder hurts, but he can move it, and the scratches are already healing on their own. No permanent or worrying damage, but enough to have him breaking into tears off and on for the next hour, and enough chaos to mean he’s allowed to eat dinner in his room instead of with the family. 

Tilda puts him to bed early, arm now bandaged and only vaguely throbbing with residue pain. 

“Why does he hate me?” Sylvain asks in a small voice, causing her to sigh. 

“He doesn’t hate you. He’s just....finding it hard,” she says, stalling over the words which he knows, even at this age, means she’s lying. 

“Why? He doesn’t have one of these things,” Sylvain pouts and Tilda offers him a sad smile. 

“That’s the problem, my dear. To your father, the mark is something he’s been waiting for. Your brother doesn’t have one, but you do,” she explains. 

“But he might get one,” Sylvain insists. Tilda frowns, and sits down on his bed. 

“No, he’s too old. Even you are old to have only just seen yours, but minor marks can do that. You may have just not noticed it before. Or it may have something to do with your soulmate.” 

“Soulmate?” Sylvain questions with a frown, not understanding the word, and she blinks at him. 

“Didn’t they-? Of course they didn’t,” she sighs, and her expression deepens in a way he’ll understand in a few short years, feel in his bones. But for now it bypases him, and he concentrates on the smile she gives afterward. 

“This, is a soulmark,” she says, tapping gently on where the mark usually appears. “And it connects you to another person, someone very important to you. That person is your soulmate,” she explains, smiling as his eyes light up at learning more. 

“Your soulmate is someone who will mean a lot to you. Someone you might fall in love with, be best friends with, or be like family. They will have a mark that you will understand, just like you will understand theirs,” she explains patiently. 

“So, they will have the same as me?” he says. But she shakes her head. 

“No, the symbol you have now is...old. A language we don’t use, and no one knows how to read. When you and your soulmate connect, the mark will change,” she says, smiling brightly. 

Sylvain nods. “Father says it will be someone powerful,” he replies. 

Instantly, her face falls, and she exhales steadily, before holding onto his hand. 

“What matters, is that they will be your soulmate, Sylvain,” she says slowly. 

He ponders on that, then nods, before another question arises. 

“How will I know who it is?” he asks. 

“You’ll just feel it, they say. I don’t have a soulmark, it’s very rare nowadays. But they say when the time is right, it all makes sense,” she replies. 

But that doesn’t make any sense at all for Sylvain, and it must show on his face, for she laughs and kisses his forehead. 

“Would you like to hear a story?” she asks, and he nods enthusiastically, for her stories are the best, especially the ones she tells at bedtime. 

She smiles, and stands to pull out her customary chair next to him, and he settles back on his pillows as the lights are switched off, only his lamp near the bed permitted on during storytime. 

“When the world began, people looked very different. We had two heads and four arms, and four legs, but one heart to keep us going. And everything was perfect. But one of the gods was jealous, unhappy that mankind had so much happiness and companionship. So he sent a great lightning storm across the world, and each person was split in two, and scattered all over the world. 

“When the goddess discovered what had happened, she carved him into a thousand pieces and scattered him to the winds, for she was so angry and devastated that his work could not be undone. But she could try and help. So she gave each person a clue, a symbol to match with the other part of themselves, so they’d have a chance at finding the part of them that had been joined together.

“That, my sweet Sylvain, is where soulmates come from. And that’s the other person who you’ll find one day,” she finishes, just as his eyes are fluttering closed. 

“Do you think I will find them?” he says with a yawn, just about clinging on to consciousness. 

There’s a warm laugh. “Of course, I do. And they are going to be so lucky to have you.” 

* * *

Things change after that. Much to Sylvain’s surprise, his lesson at home are replaced by schooling for a group of others his own age, ten of them from other well-to-do families that takes place three days a week. Father still believes his education should be controlled at home, so he’s not fully placed in school. But, for the first time in so long, he meets other children. 

And he finds he likes it. He’s best friends with two people on his first day and talks to everyone. Finally, there are others who want to play and run with him, and other kids he can talk to about horses and knights. The school days are long and he gets home late, but it’s so much better than the days at home. 

His lessons at school are the same as what he was taught at home, but it becomes clear during his first week he’s at a higher level than his classmates. He’s given separate reading and homework, even having to have maths on his own with another teacher. But it doesn’t matter for with a class as specialists as this, it happens all the time. 

At home his lessons switch to what his father calls ‘history’ but seems to be a lot about other families they have connections with. It’s dull and his tutor is strict, making his head ache with old war stories that are nowhere near as interesting as the ones Tilda tells him as he goes to sleep each night. He much prefers the learning of his new classroom. 

At home is also Miklan. His father changes him to a weekly boarder at his school, so he’s now never home in the evenings, which Sylvain is grateful for, and Sylvain's father spends the weekends quizzing him on things he’s learned or showing him whatever life lesson he decides it’s time to learn, whether it be harder equations or riding. Therefore they are barely in the same room except for mealtimes, which are always supervised. 

But he’s a constant shadow, smirking at Sylvain through windows, throwing rocks at him when no one looks, and destroying any of his toys if they are left alone. Sylvain starts learning to lock away the things he loves; letters from his friends, drawings and high test scores, for he knows Miklan will do anything to destroy what he loves. 

It’s awful. He hates being at home. He doesn’t like fathers lessons, doesn’t like the way he’s scolded if he’s anything less than perfect, and the disappointment on his face when his mark doesn’t appear for days on end. He feels crushed by the mark on his skin, and it’s only the story Tilda told him which gives him some sort of hope that something good may come out of this mark after all. 

So he focuses on storytime and school. He wins races sometimes, and has the best scores in the class for every test. For his seventh birthday, a girl called Petra with long braids and hesitant smile gives him a pink flower, and they are officially boyfriend and girlfriend. It lasts about a week until she decides it’s boring, and Sylvain just shrugs and says okay. 

But it’s good. So much better than before. His father gets him a new pony which he rides each Saturday early in the morning. He loves the way he races through the paddocks, even as his father criticises his every movement, for he can tune it out on the wind and pretend he’s really a hero from stories, never truly staying in one place. 

There are also the bad parts. The nights when his father yells at him for not quite making a perfect score on his English test. When Miklan pushes him down the stairs and he breaks his arm, and needs stitches in his lip. When two women and a man test his mark using all sorts of contraptions that sting and burn for days after, in search of any clue as to who his soulmate might be. 

By the time he is eight, he hates the mark. Hates what it means and what it’s doing to his family. So when he’s told about the other children, his immediate reaction is annoyance. 

“I don’t want to. I already have friends, and they are babies,” he says to Tilda, knowing immediately that he sounds like his brother, and hates himself for it. 

Tilda sighs. “They are two years younger than you, that’s nothing. You have friends in your class that age. You don’t have to play with them, but maybe it will be fun? Your parents all know each other and maybe it will be nice meeting other children with marks?” she tries. 

“I hate my mark,” he says, not for the first time, but for the first time to someone else. 

She stops at that, turns around and kneels down so they are close to the same height. 

“Your mark is something wonderful, Sylvain. I know your father and Miklan...I know it doesn’t seem like it is now, but you will see it one day. And it’s your soulmark, remember that. Not anyone else's,” she reminds him.

It’s a lunch event he’s forced to attend, with many other people his father knows. He’d been told he should make friends with the other children with marks, but as his parents are too busy chatting to other adults, he isn’t seen as he makes it down the stairs and stays by a wall.

He sees one of them immediately; a blonde boy with long hair, who is holding the hand of a man who is laughing loudly. The boy looks so at ease already, and Sylvain wonders how. He moves along the wall and to the buffet, taking three sandwiches before anyone sees. At least, he thinks they see. He’s finished one of them when he looks up and sees an older boy, with dark hair grinning in his direction. He waves, and looks to somewhere behind him, holding up a hand towards Sylvain in a practiced gesture to stay there. 

But the turn is all Sylvain needs to bolt. The boy is probably Miklan’s age, and Sylvain doesn’t like that, doesn’t trust anyone not young enough to be a playmate or old enough to be a real grown up. That middling ground is dangerous. So he runs outside, hoping the neither the boy or his parents see him, and races through the grounds as quick as he can. 

He finishes off his sandwich as he makes it to the fountain, kicking the stones as he watches the water flow. He doesn’t know what time the lunch ends, but he hopes he can hide away until it’s over. 

“You’re fast!” 

He turns around. There, standing on the steps is a girl. She’s smiling widely, two long thick braids hanging down on either side of her shoulders, wearing a long blue dress and boots. Sylvain shrugs. 

“Yeah, I am,” he says, for it’s true, he is. 

However the girl hops down the stairs and jumps in front of him. 

“I’m faster,” she says, proudly without any worry. 

Sylvain stands up. He’s at least a head taller but she barely blinks. 

“How do you know?” he asks. 

She shrugs. “I’m faster than everyone. Do you want to race. Then we’ll see!” 

Which is how he spends the entire afternoon racing Ingrid up and down the grounds, longer and longer until they are laughing and falling over, their legs rubbery. 

“I win! Four races to me, three to you!” she yells as she spins around, having just beat him back to the fountain again. 

She really is fast. Even in the dress that’s not designed for running she races through, wild in her stride in a way he knows so well from his own games. It’s been fun, way more fun than he expected. 

“I like riding too, we should race on horses! Dimitri won’t race, but Felix does, although Glenn is always watching him so I just race on my own,” she says, and Sylvain grins. 

“No one watches here, and I’m the best at riding. Plus I’m older than you, I’ll definitely win!” he says. 

“Like you did at running?” she says, and then sprints off, leaving Sylvain to follow with a shout, running up to the top of the house. 

They sneak back in together, and immediately walk towards the food table. Sylvain slows when he sees the blonde boy is there too, but Ingrid strides right up to him, dragging Sylvain along my his sleeve. 

“Dimitri! Sylvain is way faster than you, and is going to be faster on a horse too,” she says, dropping him there as if to prove it. 

Dimitri is half way through eating a sandwich, but looks up at him with wide eyes. 

“Wow. Are you faster than Ingrid?” he asks, clearly amazed in a way that makes Sylvain grin. 

“I beat her three times,” he says and Dimitri stares even more, blue eyes widened. 

“I beat him four, I’m the winner,” Ingrid grumbles. 

“But no one ever beats Ingrid. Except Felix, that one time when she tripped,” he says, then looks at Sylvain gravely. 

“There was blood everywhere,” he whispers, looking sort of terrified, and Sylvain is a little bit shaken by the look in his eyes. 

“You’re such a scaredy cat,” says a new voice, and Sylvain actually jumps, he isn’t expecting it. 

For by Dimitri’s side is a new boy, smaller than all of them with long dark hair pulled up on top of his head. He reminds Sylvain of someone else, but Dimitri has turned now, looking sadly at the newcomer. 

“But it was horrible! Blood is horrible,” he says. 

Sylvain doesn’t know why, but the words are out of his mouth before he can stop them. “I broke my arm last year and now it doesn't bend properly, it’s almost backwards.” 

The small boys eyes light up. “Can I see?” he says, stepping forward as Dimitri immediately steps back. 

Sylvain grins, pulls up the sleeve of his top and bends his elbow. Felix stares, Ingrid laughs and Dimitri throws up his sandwich. It’s the most fun he’s had at his home in years. 

He doesn’t think he’ll see them again soon, until he’s been marched into the car one Saturday morning, father telling him to do up his seat belt. 

“You’re going to the Galatea Household. You’ll practice your riding there from now on,” he says, and that’s how he spends every weekend with Ingrid from then on. 

She has more than one horse, and her stables are twice the size of theirs, and before two weeks are up, his own horses is stabled there as well. Ingrid has her own riding instructor, and Sylvain doesn’t mind for it’s even less time at home, and less time with father. What’s more, the instructor lets them spend the last part of their lessons free riding, racing as far as their steeds will take them. Which he knows looking back is not that far, they were so young and probably supervised the whole time, but back then, it felt like a freedom he’d never felt before, away from any constraints he was used to. 

Sylvain had been right, he is faster than her, but she’s good, keeping up in a way that no one else can or wants to. It’s on one of those rides, where they make it to the forest at the edge of her family’s grounds when she slows down and lets her horse nose at apple trees in the grove. 

“Father thinks you and I are soulmates,” she states, looking back at him as she flicks her hair out of her eyes. 

Sylvain makes a face. Ingrid is seven next week, but he’s nine and half, and the prospect seems hideous. 

“That’s stupid,” he says and Ingrid turns in her saddle. 

“That’s what I said! And anyway we won’t know for ages. My mum didn’t know until she was twenty. That’s so old,” she says. 

“Really, really old,” Sylvain agrees, the prospect of being twenty downright terrifying. 

“Anyway, everyone really wants to know who Dimitri’s soulmate is. He’s related to a king, so it’s all they talk about,” she says with a shrug, as they both turn around and head back towards the house. 

“What about the other one? Felix?” Sylvain asks, remembering the boy who had been interested in his arm. He’s not seen either of them since that day at his house, but he remembers the way the boy’s eyes lit up at the time. 

“Oh, I don’t know. But he’s coming to my birthday next week. Are you coming? You have to come, it will be boring without you,” she announces, moving her pony into a trot. 

Sylvain already knows he’s going, his father has told him as such for weeks, but he grins and trots ahead. 

“I don’t know, I’m busy. Lots of girls have birthdays next week,” he calls, moving into a gallop. 

“Liar!” Ingrid yells, chasing, and he laughs as he leans forward, urging the horse onwards as they race back to where their instructor is waiting. 

Ingrid’s pronouncement on their status as soulmates is obvious as the week goes on. His father is around far too much, at every moment he’s not as school lecturing him on etiquette and the importance of making a good impression. By the time Ingrid’s party comes around he’s dreading it, thankful his mark hasn’t shown of late, a constant reminder of what he’s being forced to do this for. 

Miklan makes sure to shut his hand into a door on the way out, even if he gets the hand wrong and does it on the one without his mark. He’s getting better and better at making things look like an accident, and Sylvain has to cradle his throbbing hand to his chest much like the first time his brother hurt him all the way to the party, as there wasn’t enough time to bandage it. 

As he arrives, he’s put in front of Ingrid’s family but not Ingrid herself, where he talks to her grandmother for a while, who calls him ‘charming’ and ‘delightful’. But after that he’s left alone again, so goes wandering into the main room. Strangely, the first person he sees is Dimitri. He’s standing near the door, and waves when Sylvain enters, despite having not seen him for months. 

Sylvain approaches, and they both sort of shuffle awkwardly, not really knowing what to say. 

“Where’s Ingrid?” Sylvain asks, after a moment, wondering what’s the point of being here if he can’t even see the birthday girl? 

“Umm...somewhere? I lost her,” Dimitri says with a sad smile. 

Sylvain sighs, and as ever, his eyes travel to the outside world. He’s so used to escaping adults by running to the nearest green space, it comes as second nature. 

“Want to explore?” he says, for most of his visits with Ingrid have been restricted to the paddocks and stables. 

Dimitri’s eyes light up and he nods, so the two of them make their way outside. That is, until a small figure appears in front of the door. 

“Where are you going?” Felix asked, barring their way even though Sylvain could probably step over him without even trying. 

“Exploring!” Dimitri says, almost jumping up and down in excitement, which makes Sylvain even more excited. 

Felix though shakes his head. “Glenn said to stay here,” he says, crossing his arms. 

“Who is Glenn?” Sylvain asks, and this is obviously the wrong question, for Felix huffs angry and stamps his foot. 

“My big brother,” he announces, and Sylvain immediately gulps. For he doesn’t think it’s a good idea for big brothers to not be obeyed, even if he’s only just heard of this person. 

Dimitri however, sighs. 

“Well Glenn didn’t tell us to stay, so we’re going,” he says, and easily moves past Felix, who looks aghast at the action. 

In fact, as Sylvain walks past too, Felix looks like he might cry, the way he’s screwing up his eyes and looking back and forward, obviously conflicted. So he stops. 

“Do you want to come?” he says, softly, and Felix looks up. 

“Glenn…” he repeats again, and then looks back at the room, full of adults ignoring them as usual, and still no sign of Ingrid. 

So Sylvain sighs. “Well, we’re going this way,” he says, pointing in the opposite direction of the stables, and then beckons Dimitri to follow. 

He’s not surprised then, when a few minutes later the sound of running feet meets his ears. Dimitri catches his eye, and they both laugh as Felix runs to meet them, looking truly unhappy and out of breath. The boy scowls at the two of them, but Sylvain smiles. 

“Let’s go!” he says, and the three walk in tandem until they turn the corner and reach a dead end, a huge wall in their way. It goes up for miles, three ledges sticking out of it as if were made for some other purpose than to inconveniently block their way. Dimitri whines. 

“It’s so tall!” 

“And really old. It’s breaking, look,” Sylvain replies, pointing at a particularly crumbling piece of stone. 

“There’s vines in it too, it can’t be safe,” Dimitri adds. 

There’s a pause and the two boys look at one another. 

“Let’s climb!” they yell at the same time, running towards it. 

“No!” Felix yells from behind. Sylvain stops but Dimitri just continues on, already swinging up, ignoring the way the stone marks his pristine blue suit. 

Felix is twisting his hands and looking back, as if waiting for something terrible to come creeping around the corner. Dimitri must be used to this, but Sylvain isn’t, has never had someone smaller or younger who so obviously seems to need looking after. So he steps forward two paces, and holds out his un-bruised hand. 

“Come on, I’ll help you,” he offers, smiling. 

Felix looks behind once more, then slowly, puts his tiny hand in Sylvains. Sylvain grins, closes his fingers around Felix’s and pulls him forward. The two run to join Dimitri who is almost halfway to the first ledge by then. 

It’s takes Sylvain a while, partly as his hand is still sore from when Miklan hurt him, and partly as Felix keeps trying to hold onto his as they go up. But they make it with some assistance from Dimitri, and all three sit on the first ledge. 

“Wow you can see everything!” Dimitri says, and Felix grumbles next to Sylvain as he tries to jump to his feet. 

“Not everything stupid there’s a wall behind us,” he says, and Sylvain can’t help but laugh a little. 

“Okay, everything this way,” Dimitri repeats as he again starts to try to stand. Sylvain also does so too, wanting really to see as much as he can, only for Felix to grab his hand once more. 

“Don’t do that you’ll fall!” he says and Sylvain rolls his eyes, and is just about to retort when another voice from the ground carries up. 

“He’s right, that really is dangerous.” 

Sylvain really does almost fall then, only saved when Felix grabs hold of his collar and yanks him back. As he does he leans forward, and shouts down. 

“I’m sorry, Glenn!” 

Sylvain freezes as his mind fills with both the pounding of his heartbeat from almost plummeting to the ground and also the knowledge they’ve been caught by Felix’s older brother. He peers over, and sees the boy he vaguely recalls from the lunch at his parents house months ago staring up at them, hands on hips. He doesn’t actually look that mad, but Sylvain knows that means nothing, Miklan had looked perfectly pleasant before pushing him down the stairs and breaking his arm. 

“It’s okay. Can you all climb down?” 

“Yup!” Dimitri calls, and then swings down with ease. Felix starts immediately, none of the nervousness he displayed on the way up appearing. 

Sylvain however, can’t move, hands starting to shake at the prospect of what awaits at the bottom. 

“Sylvain? Are you okay? Do you need me to come up?” Glenn calls suddenly, and it breaks him out of his stupor. He finds himself scrambling down before he knows it, reaching the bottom after the others, but not too far behind. By the time he does, Felix is up in Glenn’s arms, while he’s holding onto Dimitri’s other hand as if he might escape at any second. 

Glenn offers him a smile, but then it falls as he notices his hand. 

“Oh that’s nasty, did you do that on the wall?” he asks, stepping closer, and Sylvain backs away instantly, shaking his head and hiding the hand away. 

Glenn freezes, eyes narrowing as he does. But before he can say anything, Felix speaks. 

“It was like that before. Can we have food now?” 

“Cake!” Dimitri announces suddenly, to which Felix wrinkles his nose, and Glenn laughs. 

“Okay, yes but don’t think you’re not in trouble, you know you can’t just climb up walls,” he says, and tilts his head so Sylvain falls in line with Dimitri. 

They are told off, but not as much as Sylvain thinks they might have been if Glenn hadn’t intervened. Ingrid is annoyed she hadn’t been part of their climbing adventure, but hugs him tightly when he gives over the pair of riding boots as her present which he had no hand in buying. 

It’s on the way home that he turns over his hand, and starts at the mark clear on his skin. It stays visible for three weeks afterwards, the longest it’s ever stayed, much to his father’s delight. The smiles and praise he receives though, especially when he is pushed out of the car to go riding with Ingrid, makes his stomach curl.

Sylvain wakes up each morning, begging for it to fade. For as much as he likes riding and spending time with her, he doesn’t think she’s his soulmate. And he hates the way that his life is being arranged as if she is. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Later that night as he’s trying to sleep, he traces the still there mark by the light of stars outside, wondering if it’s true; if his soulmate, wherever they are, has been thinking of him today. Wondering who he is, what he’s doing, when they’ll meet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the response to the first chapter! I am still in shock, wow. 
> 
> Audrey; my wonderful, amazing beta, you are the best. Thank you so much for all your help with this.
> 
> Enjoy chapter 2!

“Sylvain! What’s big school like?” Dimitri yells as he walks in through the door. 

“You need to stop calling it that,” he replies with a laugh as he hugs Ingrid hello. 

It’s his first weekend after starting school; with actual uniforms, multiple classrooms and many, many other people. He’s used to being one of the tallest, always towering over his friends, but now being eleven in a school that goes up to eighteen, he’s small and got lost three times during the week. 

Everything about the school is large: from the stone corridors, the assembly hall which fits all students and teachers, the grounds for both summer and winter sports, and the dining hall with endless rows of benches. It’s also the pressure which comes with it; his father went to this school, and his father before him - a Gautier tradition. 

Miklan is not here. Sylvain isn’t sure whether he ever was, knows in the last year there’s been some trouble with his schooling, but Sylvain’s adopted a plan of just avoiding everything and anything to do with his older brother. No one has, thankfully, mentioned it so far. 

“It’s good! There’s  _ so _ many pretty girls in my class,” he says dreamily, causing Ingrid to punch him as he laughs. 

It’s only been a week, but school is fun. The lessons are easy, so easy as a matter of fact he feels as if he’s taking a step backwards. But mostly that means he can focus on other things, like practicing for the sports teams he’ll try out for soon and making friends. And of course, the pretty girls. 

Much like his last school, he likes talking to people, and already has friends in every class. The advantage of going to a real school full time is there are so many more people to talk to, and he spends more time with them. The disadvantage is that he misses Dimitri, Felix and Ingrid, so he’s thankful his father hasn’t stopped their weekend meetings. 

They rotate whose house they go to each week, and no other children have joined their circle. It’s been three years since that first time they arrived at his house, and Sylvain cannot imagine his life without them. 

Today they are in the Fraldarius house, yet Sylvain can’t see Felix. This isn’t unusual, he’ll probably be wherever Glenn is, assuming he’s at home. Sylvain still finds that strange, the way they are with one another. He’s no longer nervous around Glenn; he’s nice, extremely nice in fact and everyone seems to adore him, from Dimitri to his own father. He’s heard several people comment they hope Felix turns out just like him, and although he likes Glenn, he likes Felix more, so he hopes that doesn’t happen. 

Felix follows Glenn everywhere. He always wants him to play and join them, which to be fair, he often does, teaching them karate moves that Sylvain’s not sure are real, but they’re fun anyway. Lately, he’s been around less, but always hugs Felix goodbye, and tells him to be good. 

Sylvain can’t imagine having a brother like that. Ingrid has two brothers, but she says they’re boring, and Dimitri has no siblings. His only other comparison is Miklan, and the thought of Miklan hugging him is laughable, unless used as a rouse to hit him in the face (which he’d done once, a long time ago now). 

When Glenn isn’t around, Felix is usually sad until Sylvain can distract him. Felix is quite clingy, but Sylvain doesn’t mind. It’s sweet, and once they get him to forget about Glenn he’s a lot of fun. He usually sticks by Sylvain as a first preference, or Dimitri on occasion who was his first friend, so it’s easy to get him to be part of one of their games. 

Although Dimitri is younger, he has great ideas. Or at least, Sylvain thinks they’re great ideas. They’ve only managed to have a few disasters; that time they set the curtains on fire, or when Dimitri got stuck half way through a gate, and the winter afternoon they almost got stranded on a frozen lake as it began to crack. 

In most cases, it’s Felix who gets them out of trouble; putting out both literally and metaphorical fires. Ingrid stops them from doing what she claims are the ‘truly stupid’ ideas, although Sylvain is sure they’d be the best if she didn’t physically stop them. 

“Ah, hi Sylvain! Felix, Sylvain’s here, I told you he would be.” 

Sure enough, when Sylvain turns round Glenn is there, dressed in a long dark coat, practically dragging along his little brother who looks like he’s been crying. Sylvain smiles sadly, but holds out his arms, and after a brief hesitation, Felix moves forward and hugs him. 

Glenn gives him a relieved smile as Sylvain pats Felix on the head, the same way he always does when Felix is upset. He sometimes can’t believe he’ll be nine this year; he’s still tiny and cries so easily. It breaks his heart a little each time. 

“Hey, don’t cry anymore, we’re gonna have so much fun today,” he says, as Felix sniffs grossly next to his ear. He hopes he’s got a tissue. 

“Felix, why don’t you show them the things dad brought back from his trip?” Glenn asks, and Felix nods against Sylvain’s shoulder before turning slowly to look at Glenn, face still half pressed into Sylvain’s neck. 

Sylvain doesn’t have to see to know he’s glaring back at Glenn, who flinches a little. Felix’s glare is a powerful thing. 

“Oh I want to see!” Ingrid says scrambling up from the floor. 

“Me too, you gonna show us?” Sylvain says, nudging Felix softly, who lets go with a sigh. He rubs his eyes and looks back at Sylvain, all tears gone and replaced with a half smile. 

Felix leads them out, still holding onto Sylvains hand as they make their way upstairs to the second floor. Felix pushes open a door to a wide room, full of boxes stacked up, containing the strangest things Sylvain has ever seen. 

“Oh wow,” Ingrid whispers as they approach. 

There are lamps made of shining glass all in one crate, which Dimitri and Ingrid crowd around. Sylvain beccomes transfixed by a set of three maps rolled out on the floor, Felix’s hand tugging on his once as he stops. 

He stares at curling paper, not recognising the shapes of the countries, or the language of the maps. It’s more symbols than words, and realises with a jolt it’s the same as that of his soulmark. 

“These are so old,” he mutters, and Felix steps closer to him, peering over at writing too. 

“Swords!” 

Sylvain whips round and gasps as Dimitri staggers slightly as he pulls out the weapon. He runs over, pulling Felix with him by his sleeve, who yelps at the sudden movement. 

“Let me see!” he yells, dropping Felix as he reaches out. 

“No!” Dimitri replies, frowning as he tries to get the scabbard to come apart. 

“Yes! I’m the oldest, you can barely lift it,” he says, for he really, really wants to be the one who gets to look at the sword first. 

“But I found it,” Dimitri replies, with a pout, as if this actually means anything. 

That is until Ingrid marches over to both of them, glare on her face. 

“Neither of you should have the sword, you’ll hurt yourself!” she says, turning between both of them. 

“No I won’t,” they say in tandem, and Sylvain finds himself laughing, Dimitri smiling too, and it suddenly doesn’t seem so important as long as one of them opens the sword. 

“Go on,” he says, and Dimitri jumps up once before going back to fiddling with the sword. Ingrid makes a hissing noise, then moves next to him, hovering over his shoulder and pointing out exactly what he’s doing wrong without actually helping. 

Sylvain turns, suddenly realising there’s no presence by his side, and sees Felix has departed to stare at a series of portraits. He feels his mood fall and moves over, noticing they’re all of animals, a strange collection, but apparently Felix’s dad had seen something of value in them to bring them back. 

He doesn’t know much about Rodrigue, as he’s been told to call him, other than he travels to far away places and comes back with a lot of things. He seems to mainly be involved with art, and Glenn goes to a fancy art school, so maybe he’s going to put the pictures up in a gallery. 

“That one looks like you,” Sylvain comments when he sees one of a grumpy looking cat, and Felix immediately turns and jams his tiny fingers into Sylvain’s ribs, an aggressive tickle attack. He has to hold onto Felix’s wrists to stop him, laughing all the while. 

That is until Felix flops forward, mashing his head against Sylvain’s chest. 

“Oh no, no more sad Felix! You were laughing a minute ago,” he says, a little in despair as he’s run out of ways to make Felix feel better. If he doesn’t like swords and cats, Sylvain isn’t sure what to do. 

“Glenn’s leaving for a month,” he says, and Sylvain’s heart drops. That is a long time. So he turns them and sits against the wall, pulling Felix into his lap as he does, who goes with him and pouts over at Dimitri, who still can’t get the sword out of its sheath. 

“It will go really quick. You’ll see us every weekend, and you have Dimitri at school, right?” he says. 

Felix nods, but sobs a little, the sound travelling across the room, for Dimitri’s voice suddenly carries. 

“Felix, don’t be sad! We have a sword. You can’t be sad about swords!” he says, then waves the item in their direction, flailing a little and Ingrid has to catch him, chiding him instantly. 

Felix sniffs, but doesn’t sob again, although Sylvain can feel him shaking. This is obviously a tipping point as to whether they have sad or happy Felix for the day, so he pulls out the big guns. 

“Do you want to read something? I can read to you if you like,” Sylvain suggests. 

Glenn always reads to Felix, it’s one of the best ways to cheer him up. Felix reads perfectly fine, he just likes other people telling him stories, real and imaginary. It’s actually pretty fun; when he had a cold last winter Sylvian spent hours making up long, probably confusing story about dragons, knights, princes and princesses when Felix’s throat was too sore to let him sleep. 

“I can get my book,” Felix says quietly, and Sylvain grins, giving him one last hug. 

“Okay, go get it. I’ll stay right here,” he says, but before either can move, Dimitri finally gets the sword free, and Ingrid steps warily backwards as he pulls it out. 

“That’s cool,” Felix mutters and Sylvain hums in reply, but calls out. 

“Careful, don’t swing it. Plus I want the first go!” 

“I know how to use a sword, you can have a go in a second,” Dimitri answers, and Ingrid quickly runs over to them, just as he stands and pulls Felix up too. 

It’s a good thing really, for it all happens in a flash. 

Dimitri swings the sword, but, just as Sylvain had predicted, it’s too heavy for him. He stumbles, and Sylvain hears all three of them yell and Dimitri tips backwards toward the wall, sword first. 

The blade hits the wall and shatters, a splintering crash of metal where it severs clean in half that echoes between them. The top half of the blade clatters loudly to the ground and Dimitri just stares at the half a sword left in his hands as he rests against the wall. 

They’re all frozen in shock, fear, and Sylvain’s mind is filled within moments with uncanny unrealities where Dimitri is bloody and broken instead of the near miss he’s living in. 

The silence is broken with laughter. 

Sylvain turns and looks down as to his side Felix is bent double, howling with laughter and pointing towards Dimitri. 

“I-I thought y-you said y-yo-you could use it,” he manages before dissolving into more laughter, unable to finish his thought. 

It’s contagious, for within a second both Sylvain and Ingrid are uproar while Dimitri yells, red faced and embarrassed but smiling, until he too succumbs to the hilarity of this. It’s only for a few minutes as the smashing and laughter obviously alerts adults, and they’re soon found out. 

The Fraldarius household tells the story for years. Ingrid, Felix and Sylvain though, tell it for the rest of their lives. 

* * *

Advanced math is the worst. There’s only six of them, and all the other students apart from one are two years ahead of him. It takes place when all of his friends are in other classes, on a Friday after lunch, and the worst of all, it’s really, really dull. 

Sylvain likes math, and this class is actually more challenging so he is genuinely interested, but his teacher is boring and the fact he’s here at all is isolating. He’s now used to having at least two other people by his side wherever he goes, so being switched into this class halfway through the school year is annoying. 

It’s worse because his father is proud. He’d clapped Sylvain on the back and is now sure he’ll be going into finance, just like him. His first test scores were last class, and his father had made a point of going through every answer at the dinner table, proclaiming there is no other path more perfect, his youngest son is a true Gautier. 

He knows by the look in his father’s eye that this summer will be full of extra ‘life lessons’ when really all he wants to do is go riding with Ingrid, Dimitri and Felix, and go to visit all of his school friends as much as possible. 

It’s yet another thing he feels slowly being taken away, as he numbly listens to the teacher explaining something he understood ten minutes ago. At least though, he has Mercie. She sits looking as bored as he does, especially as this isn’t even the last class of the day and it’s getting warmer, meaning it’s harder to concentrate in the long afternoons. 

Mercie and he are strange friends. She’s been in this class since they beginning of the year and when he transferred in, their first interaction had been a simple request for a pencil on her part. 

He remembers that day a few months ago. She’d smiled a little nervously, eyes still flicking to the teacher who had his back turned to them, writing on the board. He’d recognised her vaguely, thinking she’s in at least one of his classes, but not someone he knew well. 

But he nodded with a smile, handing one over. She’d smiled gratefully, relieved and tightening her jacket around her, long pale hair falling over one shoulder. She was cute, he’d thought to himself, but focused back on the class, at least until they’d been given an exercise to do. 

“Um, Sylvain?” 

He’d started, not actually expecting her to speak first, mind still working on the best selection of words to inspire their first conversation. 

“Yes?” he said, smiling brightly, flicking his head to the side. It was routine, a play that he’s developed. He likes to make people smile and he can with just the right words and gestures. He’s been told he has a natural charm, but it takes practice, carefully constructed and tested at school. 

He doesn’t bother trying with his friends at home, they know him without the mask. Well, they know enough anyway. The fresh bruises under is ribs from being declared a truel Gautier don’t need revealing to anyone. 

However, the girl just shakes her head, rolling her eyes. It’s not the usual reaction he gets so it shakes him a little, and he laughs. 

“I’m going to ask you about math, Sylvain. Please don’t flirt like you do with all the other girls,” she’d said with a sigh. 

He blinked. For honestly no one so far had really noticed how he behaves, just replied in kind, a passing on interactions together. Challenging him was something altogether new. 

And so, they’re instantly friends. A different sort, both thrown together into a class no one else takes, both with their own friendship groups. But they are both in the same House and a few classes, so he sees her a lot, and it’s nice to have someone to pretend around less. 

“We have history, I don’t want to go,” Mercie mutters as they work through the statics analysis. 

Sylvain raises an eyebrow. “We’re still in this hell hole, why are you thinking about the next one?” 

“It all just blends in it’s terribleness,” she says in such a morose tone that he manages to get shouted at for laughing so hard. 

They make it through though, and walk to history together, Sylvain’s head stuffed full of fog and numerical patterns, not really ready to take on another subject, even if it is the last one of the day. 

Mercie half drags him to a table near the back of the room, Sylvain waving to three of his teammates from basketball as he does. Mercie cracks open a packet of sweets with a practiced air of secrecy, and Sylvain is vaguely brought back to life as the sugar hits his veins. 

“I’ll bring cakes next Friday,” she whispers, and he’s just about to ask how she thinks they’ll get away with eating cake under the table when the topic of the class is written on the board. 

_ Soulmarks.  _

He sits a little straighter, as do a few others. Most of the rooms interest is piqued at this, all of them paying a little more attention than is usual for a last class on Friday. Mr Hanneman turns around and claps his hands in the silence, obviously pleased to have their attention. 

“Today we’ll be discussing Soulmarks. It’s a special interest of mine, and intriguing part of our history, as much is still unknown. It will be on your final year exam, so do pay attention,” he says sternly before instructing them to turn to page 113 of their textbooks. 

Sylvain does, opening the double page spread on a series of symbols. Some are photos on skin, taking in the last 10 years. Some are of markings on paper, others depicted in art. He scans them but can’t see his own there, some part of him thankful while the other saddened. 

“Some of you here may have your own marks. They used to be common, but now it’s rarer to see them; and, interestingly, how they are displayed has changed a lot in the last fifty years. There are two types of Soulmarks: Major and Minor, terms that don’t mean anything in terms of the soulbond itself, but just in how they are displayed on skin: Major being a permanent brand like a tattoo, while Minor fades in and out.” 

Sylvain leans back, skin on his wrist itching. He’s got out of the habit of checking his mark, especially as now with the uniform, it’s almost constantly covered anyway. But now he wishes he could check it, see if it’s here today as proof. 

“The minor marks are actually interesting in this respect. They appear off and on, usually in accordance with something in the soulbond. Major marks have been known to change too, reflecting their partner; changing colour, size or, once recorded, moving to another body part. There is also documentation of pain or some sort of feeling being transferred between marks. These are all seen as signs of the marks drawing the two owners together, giving them signs and signals of the other.” 

This is new information for Sylvain. He’d assumed it is random, but this causes a shaking to begin in his gut. All this time it’s been from the otherside of the bond, snaking through to his skin. This changes things, but he’s not sure in this moment how. 

He tunes in as he realsies Mr Hanneman is speaking once more. 

“Soulmarks change from the ancient symbols to our modern language. Each person’s symbol becomes a word which binds them to one another, and makes sense only when the bond is realised. That can happen at the same instant, or at different times, depending on the relationship. Which is the context we’ll be studying it in, as this very phenomenon sparked one of the greatest wars in ancient history…” 

The rest of the class passes in a blur, Sylvain part absorbed in the lesson and part fixated on the two new pieces of information which he’s learned through a damn history lesson at school. He doesn’t even notice the class has ended until Mercie taps him on the shoulder, smiling down as she puts her books away. 

“Daydreaming?” she asks, and he sighs, shaking his head. 

“Nah just...ready for the weekend I guess,” he says, reaching back and rubbing his hair, a new found nervous gesture he seems to have picked up. As he does, the sleeves of his jacket move, and he sees a familiar dark line against his skin. Forgetting where he is, he stares, moving his arm so he can catch sight of the mark. 

“Yours is Minor too?” 

He jumps again, internally cursing himself for being so in his head. Mercie winces. 

“Sorry, I don’t mean to pry. I’ve just not seen it until today so...mine is Minor. It was here yesterday, but they obviously aren’t thinking of me right now,” she says with a laugh, one airy and pleased, no hint of concern over her mark. 

“It appears when they’re thinking of you?” he asks, standing and collecting his belongings together. 

“Well, no. Or perhaps, it could be true, everyone is different. I just like to think so, that on days when it’s showing brightly, they’re thinking of me. So I try to think of them too,” she says. 

Later that night as he’s trying to sleep, he traces the still there mark by the light of stars outside, wondering if it’s true; if his soulmate, wherever they are, has been thinking of him today. Wondering who he is, what he’s doing, when they’ll meet. 

Sylvain wonders that too; or at least he lets himself for the evening. Because he’s still so lost on what this all means and how it will work for him as time passes. Mostly, his soulmate comes with expectations and beliefs from others, with forced conversations and plans. 

Tonight though, he just lets his mind wander, for him and only him. 

* * *

The summer he turns thirteen is hot, and school is almost finished. His friends bring him presents, and he gets a cake from Mercie, which is probably the best one he’s ever tried. He has to have a formal party at his house that weekend, but it’s been made so much better because Ingrid, Felix and Dimitri are staying the night. 

The time they spend apart starts to ache a little, and he’s looking forward to the summer where he’ll get to spend more time with them. This is just a little taster, and then at the start of the year, they’ll finally all be at the same school. Not in the same year, but Sylvain doesn’t care, he knows they will find time to see each other. 

The party starts off boring, having to talk to a lot of adults who comment on how tall he is, how much time has passed; grown ups always seem so obsessed with time. But he’s perfected the art of talking and smiling now, so much so that his cheeks start to ache. 

“I want to leave,” Felix mutters next to him when they have a break, arms crossed. 

“Don’t look like that, your face will get stuck,” Sylvain teases, and Felix manages to half trip him as he tries to dodge. Sylvain sticks out his tongue in relation, so Felix begins pointedly ignoring him, deciding instead to wave at Dimitri, who is a few feet away. He manages a beaming smile and a half wave before he begins speaking rapidly in another language to an adult. 

Ingrid keeps pulling at her dress. “I want to change and go riding,” she huffs for the third time, and Sylvain groans. 

“You know this isn’t my idea, right,” Sylvain says, getting cross because his friends are. Felix gives him a sad look and knocks into his side, hands slipping against his. 

Felix rarely cries now, and seems to be less attached at the hip to Glenn. But he still always stands close to Sylvain, grips his hand and arm when he wants something. It’s nice, this closeness, this ease they have. 

“Are the babies holding hands? How adorable.”

Sylvain freezes, arm snatching away from Felix’s as if the words are branded into his palm. Miklan stares at him across the table, wearing a mask of a pleasant smile, tipping his head to one side. Sylvain swallows. He’s thirteen years old now but he’s still terrified of his brother. He can’t let his friends know though, so just stays still, hoping he’ll leave. 

He’s not seen Miklan outside of dinner times in what seems like weeks, and the full bodied fear his brother produces is a flood he’s not experienced in some time. 

“Aw, you don’t need to stop if you’re scared,” he says, teasing. He feels Felix shift next to him. 

“What do you want?” Felix says, Sylvain stunned from his frozen state at the venom in his voice. 

Miklan’s eyes widen, but his mask doesn’t crack. 

“Oh I’m sorry, I was only joking Felix. Happy birthday, Sylvain! You look like you’re having fun,” he says sweetly. 

Felix relaxes, and Ingrid is looking calculatingly back at the food, eyeing more of her favourites. But Sylvain is trapped by Miklan’s smile, by his words which seem to fill his mind and senses. He isn’t sure what his brother is doing, but he’s not been nice in years, so he doesn’t trust the sentiment. 

Miklan starts walking around the table, and Sylvain steps back. He doesn’t know if his brother is coming closer, but he’s moving in a direction that could possibly cause them to meet. Sylvain takes another step away from his friends, but they don’t notice. Felix and Ingrid are now talking to each other, Miklan’s smile is growing, there’s less and less space and…

A hand clamps him on the shoulder. Sylvain makes a noise that’s a strangled shout and he spins around to see Glenn standing there. 

“Happy birthday, Sylvain! Thirteen already, I remember when you were so young and threw up green,” he says, grinning from ear to ear. 

“That was Dimitri’s fault,” he says, on instinct, because they have this habit of blaming the other even when it’s probably their combined faults every time. This one though, was definitely Dimitri’s fault. His friend can barely taste anything, so they’d been daring each other to eat the worst things they could think of. Sylvain had lost when he’d been sick all over the hallway at the Fraldarious household. Glenn had taken care of him, making no fuss at all about the mess or that he’d essentially done it to himself. He’s nice like that. 

“Oh, I have no doubt about that...oh gosh, I’m gonna get trampled, Sylvain help,” Glenn says laughing as Felix runs over and crashes into him, Ingrid following with a smile. 

Sylvain turns carefully, adrenaline still pumping. But Miklan has vanished, hopefully without a trace, and he’s pulled back by Ingrid to join their group hug a second later. 

The party does eventually wind down, and they are permitted to do as they like. Dimitri and Sylvain horde as much cake as they can carry up to his room, all of them spread out and gorging on sugar, except Felix who doesn’t like cake. 

“We should play a game,” Ingrid says, bouncing up with a sudden sugar fueled energy that Sylvain doesn’t really have yet, but a game does sound fun. Which is exactly why he ends up running around the house playing hide and seek for the next hour. He technically should have the advantage, but the other three have been playing here for years, and Felix fits into all sorts of random places, and Ingrid’s competitive senses give her an edge. 

He always finds Dimitri first and vice-versa, including that one time they just left the other two and decided to go eat more cake instead, meaning he’s now running through the house laughing as he tries to escape Ingrid and Felix’s combined anger. 

It’s why he isn’t looking where he’s going, and doesn’t notice the person emerging from the room ahead until he’s almost crashing into Miklan. 

He skids to a halt, heart pounding, breath suddenly loud in his ears. Miklan looks tired, upset and a little surprised to see him there. It’s a strange moment, for Sylvain can only ever recall his brother acknowledging him with hatred, never with the tight lines of exhaustion and misery he sees now. 

It’s taken him until thirteen years old, but he realises in that second just how much all of it hurts Miklan. It doesn’t make it better, but it does shine a grim light in a dark corner and that in itself is a relief. 

However, Sylvain’s relief is short lived as his brother’s expression suddenly melts swiftly into a familiar distaste that has his breath quickening once again. 

“What are you doing here?” Miklan says, folding his arms over his chest. 

Sylvain swallows. “Nothing. I’m going,” he says, hoping that a hasty retreat will be enough. 

It’s not though, for before he can move, Miklan darts forward, grabbing his arm. He it forces him forward a few steps, but Miklan only holds him tighter, scowling down at him, anger clearly growing. 

“Did you have a good birthday? All those people here to shower their precious marked child with affection and bribes?” 

_ Marked _ , he makes it sound as if it’s a disease or a curse. And right in this second, that’s what it feels like. But Sylvain is getting tired of that. Tired of everyone in this house thinking luck makes him something to control or to bash, when he just longs for that faint thrill of anticipation gained from learning in class, and the theories his friends like Mercie have. 

“I didn’t ask for this! I don’t like these parties, I don’t know these people, I don’t want any of it!” he shouts, pulling at Miklan’s arm and actually managing to wrench himself free. 

Miklan stares at him, face blank, and Sylvain feels a warm sense of invigorating pride filter through. He stood up to him. Actually broke away from the torments and told him off. He stands up tall, not as tall as his brother but he feels his full height for the first time in a long time. 

“Then you’re even stupider than I thought.” 

He only has time to feel the grab on his shirt before he’s hauled sideways, his previous bravado draining. For Miklan’s grip is iron and his feet trip under him at the speed. Sylvain is tall, but so is his brother, and stronger by far, accelerated by the intent he now has. Sylvain may as well be a rag doll as Miklan throws him against the wall, adjusting his grip with his other hand at the last second to make sure he hits headfirst. 

Sylvain screams. It’s instant pain, which a part of his mind tells him is actually a good thing, for the time he broke his arm it didn’t hurt when he fell. But that doesn’t help, so he sobs, falling straight back to the ground and grazing his elbows as Miklan drops him. 

Vaguely, he hears noises, some shouting and familiar voices, but he blocks it out as he turns on his side, eyes closed. He can taste blood, although he’s not sure where it’s coming from and his tears sting as they slide down his cheeks. His face is throbbing, and he flinches as someone touches his shoulder. 

“Sylvain, hey it’s just us. Miklan’s gone. Turn around, let me see,” Ingrid’s voice whispers, so close, but he feels himself tighten up even further. He doesn’t want them to see, even though he knows he needs help. 

“Oh, there’s blood, I can see blood…” he recognises Dimitri, who sounds more shaken than he’s ever heard. 

“That’s not helping!” Felix’s voice snaps back, that same strict tone from before. 

“Come on Sylvain, turn around,” Ingrid whispers again, pulling on his shoulder slightly. 

He swallows, and forces himself to stop crying so he can, knows his friends aren’t going to leave until he does. So he opens his eyes, a blur of his home all he can see, swallows a thick layer of blood and sits up slowly. He hears shuffling from behind as he does, Ingrid’s hand falling from his shoulder to accommodate his change in position. 

Steeling himself, he turns. Ingrid and Felix are both sitting close on the floor, Dimitri standing a little way behind them. All look pale and scared, and all of their eyes widen as he faces them. 

Despite it being Ingrid who first spoke, it’s Felix who reacts first. He sits up on his knees so they are nearly at the same height, and peers at his face. 

“It’s your nose. You have to pinch it, like this,” he says, and Sylvain’s shaking hand comes up and he mirrors the action, making a wounded noise when the skin around hurts to hold. Felix makes a face then grips his hand. 

“We need to clean you up, let’s go get some cloth,” Ingrid says, standing up and pulling at Dimitri, who seems frozen. He doesn’t move, just stares at Sylvain for a second. 

“Are you okay?” he says, suddenly, voice all small and scared. Dimitri seems so young in that second, and Sylvain has to find his words, even as blood drips from his nose. 

“Yeah,” he says, words just about coming through. 

It’s a lie and they all know it, but it seems enough to get Dimitri to run off with Ingrid, enough to get them moving. 

Left alone, Felix smiles, and then looks back at his nose. 

“Looks sore. But I think the bleeding is stopping,” he says. 

He squeezing Sylvain’s hand, and for some reason that comfort gets to him. His eyes fill with tears again and he doesn’t have the energy to stop them. Felix shuffles forward and manages to hug him with one arm while still holding onto his hand. 

“Brothers don’t do that,” he says into Sylvain’s ear, the strength back in his words again. He’s seen an entirely different side of Felix today, and wonders what it means. 

“Miklan does. He always does,” Sylvain admits, and Felix stiffens, but the hug never changes, never stops until Ingrid and Dimitri come running back. 

The sleepover takes a different tone after that. They’ve managed to get ice as well as cloths to clear away the blood, and they all retreated back into Sylvain’s room. He’s impressed no grown ups have seen them, but then again this is his house. His parents do have a lack of interest in whatever playtime they have, so he’s almost thankful it’s here rather than at Dimitri's, where they are watched every second. 

His nose stops bleeding and they manage to clear it up. It’s stops hurting pretty quickly too, and Sylvain is now so accustomed to bruises he can tell it’s probably going to look sore, but easily explained away as a game gone wrong. 

Ingrid has also found more food, so they tuck into sweets, cake and spicy chips that Felix hogs and Sylvain finds himself telling them about Miklan. He’s never wanted to tell people about it, never thought he’d be able to share it. But as he does, he feels better, and the hugs he gets from all of them help. 

“Why is he like that though? I don't understand,” Dimitri says. 

Sylvain sighs, holding the ice to his nose. “Because I have a Soulmark and he doesn’t,” he says. 

Dimitri makes a face. “Soulmarks are weird, why would he want one,” he says. 

Sylvain looks up with interest. The four of them have never really talked about their marks, so he makes a ‘continue’ gesture to Dimitri, who sighs and pulls up his sleeve. This starts a chain reaction, for the other two start adjusting theirs too, and Sylvain puts the ice down in order to do the same. In a strangely coordinated movement, they push their arms forward in a circle. 

Dimitri’s is a little higher than Sylvains, up closer to his elbow, with an almost electric bolt pattern that’s mirrored on either side. Ingrid’s is small, over her wrist in its entirety, the long line in the centre reaching down towards her forearm. Felix’s is almost at his shoulder, and seems the biggest of all of theirs, the lines at the top curling around his arm. 

“Well, mine appeared this morning, so you can all see it. It usually stays for a week, I don’t know why,” Ingrid says. 

“Mine’s fading,” Sylvain adds, as he can see the colour is already draining. He’s surprised it’s still there though, it seemed extremely faint this morning. Almost as if it’s decided to return for his birthday.

“My mark doesn’t really do anything. Sometimes it’s a bit brighter,” Felix says, tipping his head to look at it. 

“Mine burns.” 

They all turn to look at Dimitri, who frowns. “I can’t explain it. Feels like when you touch something too hot. I don’t like it, it’s weird,” he says, pulling down his sleeve abruptly. 

The other three exchange nervous glances and Sylvain sighs. “I guess the whole thing is kind of weird. I sort of wish mine would change colour. That would be cool,” he says, and smiles when Dimitri manages a quirk of his lips in return. 

“But we have soulmates. I like that,” Felix says, and Sylvain sees Ingrid nod too, realising that both of them are actually looking forward to meeting whoever they are connected to. 

He isn’t sure what to do with that, and neither does Dimitri by the way he’s shifting around, so Sylvain nudges Ingrid.

“Poor them, getting stuck with you,” he says, and Ingrid throws a pillow at him, which of course results in all out battle, the original discussion forgotten. 

Sylvain falls asleep later that night, mind full of thoughts of his soulmate: from Miklan’s hatred, to Dimitri’s strange feelings, to Felix’s happiness, it’s a swirl of conflicting emotions that he cannot find his own to cling to. The older he gets the worse it seems, but maybe it isn’t as bad as it could be. Maybe he can find a way to see hope in it, just like Ingrid and Felix do. 

In his sleep, Felix who is next to him, seems to sense his worry, as he throws out an arm which almost smacks him in the face. Across the room Dimitri snores and Ingrid turns over for the millionth time, never able to lie still. 

Sylvain grins, snuggles into his blankets and readjusts Felix’s arm carefully so it’s curling into him rather than about to slap him. No matter what, he has these three friends, the best he could ever ask for. And that, for now, is enough. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You’ll always have me. Promise. Always. We’ll swear on it,” he says, holding up his hand with his little finger towards him. 
> 
> Felix raises an eyebrow. “A pinky promise? Aren’t we a little old for that?”
> 
> “Do you want to seal it with blood instead?” Sylvain replies, and Felix groans. 
> 
> “Why are those the only two things you think of?” he replies, but doesn’t hesitate to lift up his hand, and link their little fingers together. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone reading and supporting so far! You are all fabulous. 
> 
> Please note the academics are based on the UK system, as that's what I have in depth knowledge of. 
> 
> Audrey, my fantastic beta, thank you again for all your help with this story. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy the update!

When Sylvain starts third year Dimitri, Ingrid and Felix all start their first year at school. He’s excited; he generally likes school but this year will be even better. 

Of course they aren’t in the same class as him. In a perfect world they would be, but that two year gap can’t be breached. However, the more devastating part for them is Dimitri and Felix are in completely different classes. Felix actively seeks Sylvain out on the first day to tell him, looking tiny and lost in the process. He’d ended up being late for chemistry trying to calm Felix down, but his teachers didn’t seem to mind too much seeing as he was helping out a first year. 

It turns out Ingrid is in his classes, Felix slightly relieved when he walks into their math class, a seat already saved by her. Dimitri though looks miserable when Sylvain goes to find him at break, dealing with the daunting prospect of knowing no one at all in a strange environment. 

They are all in the same House so they see each other every day, and in the various House related activities they do. Dimitri makes friends though, fairly easily as Sylvain knew he would, and they settle, even though at times the two year gap between them seems vast to Sylvain, who doesn’t have the same thrills, the shiny new world of school already dull and tedious. 

It’s easier to meet at lunch, and Sylvain makes sure to sit with them all at least once a week, even if other third years try to tease him about it. It’s pretty easy to ensure it happens: Ingrid will call out as he enters the lunch room, Dimitri will wave continuously until he’s sure he’ll come sit with them and Felix will just grab his arm and march him to their table without saying a word. 

Ingrid and Felix alone in the same class is an interesting combination. He probably spends the most time out of the three of them with Ingrid, and Felix the least. 

“I don’t understand why I have to learn IT skills. I can already use a computer better than our teacher,” Felix grumbles. 

“Well, it helps prove you can do that. And you’ll get full marks,” Ingrid says around mouthfuls of her lunch, Dimitri making a face at her. 

Felix narrows his eyes but cannot argue, and it’s strange for Sylvain, watching this dynamic develop between them. He doesn’t know how he fits in these changing friendships they have. 

“IT is a waste of time,” he says, the only thing he can think of saying. 

Ingrid frowns, obviously annoyed he’s giving Felix more ammo. Felix however lifts an eyebrow and passes over the cake on his plate to Sylvain. He grins victoriously, once again the winner of Felix’s desert. It’s a weird running tally he has; Felix will give one of them his desert each time they sit together. Sylvain is so far, miles ahead of the other two. 

“I find IT helpful,” Dimitri mutters, looking at the cake longingly as Felix rolls his eyes and Sylvain stares at him as he slowly takes a bite, savouring his triumph. 

Ingrid also hates she can’t play rugby as it’s not offered to girls, and has already rallied the older girls in the house to petition for a girls team. It’s made worse that both Sylvain and Dimitri are on the boys teams, while she’s making do with hockey. He sorts of wonders who thought it was a good idea to give her something she can use as a weapon, and is wary of teasing her too much on days she has her kit. 

Therefore when Ingrid slams her tray down at the lunch table in front of him without warning, hockey stick in tow, he is immediately on edge. 

“Is it true you kissed Bella behind the gym? Everyone is talking about it,” she announces, making him choke. 

Her short hair drops in front of her face, and she swipes it again with an absent gesture. Sylvain had cut it short for her two weeks ago, as she’d managed to tangle it in a bush while they were out. He still isn’t sure how she managed to, but after he cut away the knot, she’d met his eyes with a fierce stare and demanded he take off the rest of it. Now it hits just above her shoulders, which suits her well. 

He’d been pretty impressed at his hair cutting skills, but he’d been yelled at by his father for an hour, even though Ingrid was exceptionally pleased by the whole thing. She claimed her own family didn’t mind too much, but the word had gotten back anyway, although Sylvain thinks it’s more about that than what actually happened. 

He manages to swallow, then smiles, winking. “Aww, jealous. Don’t worry, you’re still my soulmate,” he says. 

Ingrid groans but does smile at that. It’s become a sort of running joke now. Up until recently, their families were still convinced they were soulmates, pushing them ever closer despite both their insistence they aren’t. At her twelfth birthday she’d even gone as far to say she’d ‘rather lick bark,’ which was funny enough due to her father’s reaction but even more so as it was a reference to something Dimitri had done two hours ago. 

Her family are now apparently nudging her towards Glenn. He’s not sure what Ingrid feels about that; he knows she likes Glenn, but enough to marry him if they’re soulmates? He hasn’t asked, doesn’t know if that will be well received. Felix seems okay with it anyway, or generally just not worried. 

In terms of Sylvain’s own love life, he had in fact kissed Bella behind the gym yesterday, he just didn’t expect everyone in the entire school to know about it within a day. Especially as it was his first kiss, both their first kisses actually. It was nice; warm and a little exciting, quick but still memorable. 

He doesn’t feel the need to talk about it though, which is why as Dimitri slaps his arm as he runs out of the school gates, he dreads the look in his eye. 

“So, how is it? Kissing girls?” he asks, eagerly, flicking his growing hair from his eyes. 

Sylvain raises an eyebrow. “Why don’t you try it?” he says, and Dimitri’s cheeks turn pink. He lets it go quickly though. 

They’re both on the rugby team, Dimitri for the under thirteens, Sylvain for the under fifteens. But they both practice together, which means they spend the most time together after school, and often share rides home. 

“It was nice. Warm. She’s cute, has a nice smile. But there must be cute girls in your year, why don’t you ask one of them?” he says, and Dimitri makes another face. 

“I don’t think they’re interested,” he mutters, and Sylvain stops, frowning. 

“You’re totally wrong,” he says, and Dimitri looks up. Sylvain sighs and gestures to his friend. 

“You’re smart, you’re on two sports teams and you’re hilarious. I’d kiss you if you weren’t my best friend. Because that’s weird,” he adds. 

Dimitri looks touched, so Sylvain swings an arm around his shoulders as they walk to practice. 

“I would also do the same if it wasn’t incredibly weird. Your my best friend too,” he says, smiling brightly. 

Sylvain thinks that’s the end of it, but there is of course one more person in his life who hasn’t commented. It’s on Sunday afternoon, Felix refusing to go riding with Dimitri and Ingrid, and Sylvain honestly doesn’t really want to after a match yesterday. 

“Why don’t you want to go?” Sylvain asks as they sit a vaguely watch TV, Sylvain having given up trying to stomach the spicy chips Felix is eating.

Felix shrugs and ignores him, eyes glued to the show Sylvain knows he’s not watching. Sylvain glares at him for a moment before he rolls his eyes and digs a toe into his side, causing Felix to jump and spill his chips. 

“What are you doing! Urg,” he says, glaring between his lap and Sylvain. 

“Stop ignoring me,” he says. Felix scowls. 

“Fine, what do you want?” he says, and Sylvain moves off the couch to sit next to him. 

“Why didn’t you go riding,” he demands again and Felix shrugs, but this time speaks. 

“Don’t want to. I don’t really care about it,” he says, but Sylvain knows there’s more to it. All he has to do is wait. And sure enough, five minutes and several pointed looks in his direction means Felix huffs and gives in. 

“Dimtri’s annoying me. He keeps going off with his new friends, or just talking about rugby. And now kissing girls, thanks to you,” Felix adds, casting him a nasty look. 

Sylvain sighs and moves over, bumping shoulders with Felix. 

“He’s still your friend, Felix. Stop worrying about it.” 

For that’s what this is all about. He knows Felix well enough by now to see when he’s worried about being left; as if any of them are even capable of leaving him behind. Sylvain’s always had the distance by being older, but there’s nothing Felix can do about that. But Dimitri is different, this whole new people new school thing is different, Sylvain can all seem them trying to adjust to it. 

“Why don’t you join a club or something? If you don’t want to ride anymore,” Sylvain says, leaning more heavily on Felix until he gets bashed in the ribs again, laughing as he sits up. 

“I don’t want to,” Felix says, but he’s turned fully to Sylvain, so there’s hope. 

“Not even to try? There’s so many you could do. Archery? Climbing? Art? Choir? Fencing?” 

Felix’s head jerks up at the last one and Sylvain pauses, before laughing. 

“Fencing! Oh my god yes, you can have a tiny sword so you-arg!” he says, cut off as Felix launches at him, sending him backwards and crashing to the floor as he tackles him. Sylvain laughs, and looks up to see Felix grinning down at him, who gives him one more jab to the ribs before climbing off and letting him up. 

Sylvain sits up and fixes his hair, leaning back on the sofa. 

“Seriously, ask about the fencing club. And try talking to Dimitri more, I bet you he’s not actually aware you think he’s ignoring you,” Sylvain adds. 

He loves his friends, all of them, but for some reason he’s always had a soft spot for Felix. And seeing him bothered by one of the others hurts. Felix nods but looks down at his hands, twisting them between one another with nervous energy. It’s obviously really bothering him, so Sylvain sighs, and taps him on the arm. As soon as he has Felix’s attention, he smiles. 

“You’ll always have me. Promise. Always. We’ll swear on it,” he says, holding up his hand with his little finger towards him. 

Felix raises an eyebrow. “A pinky promise? Aren’t we a little old for that?”

“Do you want to seal it with blood instead?” Sylvain replies, and Felix groans. 

“Why are those the only two things you think of?” he replies, but doesn’t hesitate to lift up his hand, and link their little fingers together. 

Sylvain smiles, he cannot help it. He feels a soothing sense, like a blanket on a frosty morning, the sunlight breaking through heavy dark. Rightness. Comfort. Inevitability. Probably not what you’d normally associate with being best friends but Sylvain doesn’t care, for this is just how it should be. It’s not a hard promise to make because he just knowns, like knows his hair is red and the day ends with y that they will have each other forever. 

“You have to promise too,” Sylvain reminds Felix, intent on making him say the words, even though he’s still clinging on tightly to Sylvain’s finger. 

Felix huffs as if he’s annoyed but gives Sylvain’s finger a squeeze before uttering: 

“I promise. You’ll always have me too.”

* * *

“Sylvain! You asshole, get here right now.” 

It’s not exactly how he wants to be greeted on a Saturday morning, but here he is. He follows the dulcet tones of Ingrid’s shout through her house until he sees her lounging with her computer, Dimitri and Felix on the other side of the room, heads close but obviously arguing. 

“What is that?” he says to her, pointing to his two friends. 

“History homework. Get here right now,” she says, kicking at him as he approaches.

“I didn’t realise history homework involved arguments. It looks like our last game of risk,” he adds. 

“Do not mention the forbidden game. And they’ve been paired together for a presentation; I had a whole year free of this, whoever decided they should be in the same class is now paying the price. But that’s not the point, look!” she says, pointing to her screen. 

Sylvain sighs and peers at it, taking in the chat for a second before grimacing. 

“Ummm.”

“Yes, um! Your ex is now sending me a million messages, can you not break up with people properly? Did you call me your soulmate in front of her?” Ingrid says, voice rising so loudly by the end he sees Dimitri and Felix peer up in the corner of his eye. 

He turns away and rubs the back of his neck awkwardly. It’s not really as simple as that, but he had accidentally said that to Bella. He thought she’d taken it as the joke it was, but obviously it had come back to bite him. 

“Really? You’re an idiot,” Felix says from across the room, and he glares in their direction. Dimitri however, sends him a sympathetic look. At least he had one person on his side of his friends. 

But it’s Ingrid who is getting the brunt of this, so he turns back to her. “I honestly didn’t mean to, and it was months ago, I thought she knew it was a joke. I’m sorry, I can-” 

But Ingrid sighs and holds up her hand. “I’ve smoothed it over. It’s fine just...no one else is going to get that’s a joke, Sylvain. It obviously made a big difference to her.” 

Sylvain jerks his head in a nod and sits down. That, is exactly the problem. He’s sixteen in a few months and this was his first real relationship; despite it being only a few months in total and ultimately not meaning much. Initially it had been fun; kisses after school, holding hands under the table in Science class. But it had turned sour quite quickly. When his soulmark had shown the day they officially started dating, she’d immediately told him it was a sign, that she’d always known they would be soulmates - from that first kiss a year ago they’d never mentioned again, until she’d confessed to him.

It was almost as if that was all she cared about, never mind spending time with or getting to know him properly. She wasn’t interested in his classes, in supporting his games or his friends. In particular she really disliked Felix, and he hated her right back, so that was a red flag. 

Plus, his father had somehow found out. He probably has spies in the school knowing him, for less than a week after they started dating, Sylvain had been called to his study. 

“This girl is not your soulmate. There’s no point in continuing this.” he’d said, no preamble or easing in. 

“But I like her,” Sylvain had said. There was no point in arguing on the soulmate front, he knew it wasn’t her. 

His father had snorted though. “What does that have to do with anything? End it now, stop wasting energy for no reason. You have a reputation to uphold,” he’d said sternly. 

Perhaps that’s why he’d tried to make it last, to only give up when it really started to twist and ache. He wanted to prove to himself that there was more to this, more to him than a mark which occurs at random on his skin. That he’s more. 

But it’s not true. 

“Hey...are you actually okay?” Ingrid says quietly, suddenly pulling him out of his reminiscence. 

She’s peering over at him carefully, laptop now shut and concern on her face. He looks up and sees Dimitri and Felix have given up on their history presentation battle so he’s surrounded by his friends. Dimitri marches closer and throws an arm around his shoulders. 

“Breakups are tough, it’s okay,” he says and Felix makes a face. 

“Says the person who's never even kissed anyone,” he mutters. Then he looks to Sylvain and tilts his chin up. “She was horrible, have better taste next time.” 

Ingrid splutters and Dimitri inhales in shock but for some reason that starkness of it is utterly hilarious to Sylvain. He dissolves into laughter, almost doubling over as it pours out, an accumulation of the pain, but also the not pain that this caused him. For the breakup itself doesn’t hurt; just the truths it’s revealed. 

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he says when he recovers. 

Ingrid and Dimitri don’t seem comforted by this and Dimitri gives him another squeeze before letting go. 

It’s a theme at school that week; with his teammates declaring he’s better off and Mercie giving him homemade sweets as they make their way to the last period of the day on Monday. 

“Thanks, I owe you,” he says with a grin and hugs her. 

“Anytime. Are you okay?” she says. 

Bella has been sending him death glares all day but in general it’s nothing that bothers him. 

“Yeah, I’m fine. More worried about exams,” he says, actual truth in the statement. 

He won’t even get to celebrate his birthday properly seeing as he has two exams that day. The rest don’t even end for a month after, and the mounting pressure of the school and his father has him nervous over things he wouldn’t have even thought of last year. 

His marks are consistently excellent, his teachers mainly complain about him talking and distracting others than his own grades. But his father is insistent that, despite university still being over 2 years away, he should start focusing on getting the highest scores on the subjects he’s deemed important. Pressure he didn’t know existed seems to be mounting day by day, and it’s making his head ache. 

“You’ll be fine, Sylvain. You always do well in tests. I however…” Mercie says, trailing off into nervous wonderings.

Sylvain sighs and shakes his head, throwing an arm around her shoulders as they walk. This starts a bunch of whispers from a group of girls in the year below, so he winks in their direction as they pass. 

“You just let the environment get in your head, Mercie. You know all the answers, it’s just the test conditions which get the better of you,” he says, shaking her gently a little as they walk. 

“You’re probably right. I just really want to get into Garreg Mach, and I need to pass these exams to get into the right classes next year, and-” 

“And you need to stop thinking about five years down the line. It’s not helping either,” he says, and as they step outside, he sees a familiar person on the edge of the field. He lets go of Mercie in order to call out, but stops. 

For Felix is talking to a girl. And not just talking, for Felix doesn’t really talk to anyone who isn’t the three of them, and even when he does it’s surly, all closed off body language. But he’s open, almost as if he’s actually enjoying the conversation and that is-

Weird. That’s all can say about it. It makes him uneasy. Perhaps this is exactly what it felt like when Dimitri first started to find new friends, when he and Felix made that promise two years ago. Because in that second it feels like a gap. A bridge between them that’s just appeared, something he’s not part of for the first time ever. 

Which is odd. They share everything. And yes, Sylvain has other friends, had a girlfriend, but Felix doesn’t really do that. He doesn’t ever seem that close to anyone, and he’s not told Sylvain about a girl he’s comfortable with. It doesn't quite hurt, but it doesn’t sit well either. 

He puts his arm down and walks to class, deciding not to call out to him. If Mercie finds his set of actions odd though, she doesn’t mention anything. 

This moment feels like a start of something, for after that, he sees Felix and the girl everywhere. Whoever she is, they must share a lot of classes, for Sylvain sees them together in the library, between classes and even at lunch. She’s small, with red hair and seems like a ray of sunshine which is just confusing as hell seeing as she’s friends with Felix. 

His father also stops him doing anything on the weekends except studying, on a rigid timetable that has him dreaming of equations, verb conjugations and reciting parliamentary sitting dates in his sleep. His head is so full of facts and figures that he starts to find everything a struggle for the first time in his life. But time marches forward and with it, the start of exam week. 

“I’m not even sure that’s on the syllabus, Sylvain,” Mercie says weakly as he starts reciting a quote from a random textbook he was told to read last week. 

“We can use any reference material as long as it’s relevant to the final assignment,” he says with a yawn and then slams his head on the table. The bell rings overhead signalling the final class of the day. He doesn’t bother moving though; they no longer have classes, just study sessions with different teachers until they begin the full exams next week. 

Mercie makes a nervous sound, but pats his head, and Sylvain wonders if he can get a nap in before he starts on his science prep. He doesn’t bother looking up when a chair scrapes, thinking it’s probably just another one of their class. 

“Oh he- Annette! I didn’t know you knew Felix!”

At ‘Felix’ Sylvain turns his head, and sees four new people have joined the group. He can’t see this Annette person, but he does see Dimitri, who sits down in the chair in front of him, nodding at the book. 

“Science eh? Grey’s Autonomy,” he says. 

“Anatomy,” Ingrid corrects from next to him. 

“Isn’t that when you look at the stars?” Dimitri questions. 

“No, that’s astrology,” she says through gritted teeth. 

“I’d like to take an exam in astrology. Tell my fortune, pass a test,” Sylvain says, sitting up and blinking, but the world doesn’t actually come into focus. Not a good sign. 

“How Gemini of you,” Dimitri says and Sylvain snorts. 

“Says a Sagittarius, you’d put off even taking the exam if you could,” he says. Dimitri straightens, glaring, flicking his hair out of his eyes in a tell tale sign of a challenge. 

“I will not sit there and take that from someone born under the sign of impulsiveness! As if you-” 

“Why are you like this?” Ingrid demands, slamming her hands on the table in front of them, causing everyone else in the room to glance their way. 

Sylvain turns to Dimitri and shakes his head sadly. “Typical Capricorn,” he says. 

“Always so negative,” Dimitri replies with equal sadness. 

Ingrid looks like she’s about to strangle them, but then a small, unknown laugh distracts Sylvain, making him fully notice the Annette Mercie had mentioned. 

He instantly recognises her as the girl he’s seen Felix with for the past month, the only other friend he seems comfortable with. As she spots him staring, her face turns the colour of her hair, and she stutters out an apology. 

Instantly, he turns on charm mode. It’s habit, like putting on shoes at the door before going outside; he smiles the first impression smile and shakes his head. 

“No need to apologies. I’m Sylvain, we haven’t met, which I am very sad about,” he adds.

“Urg, stop,” Felix says suddenly, walking forward and pushing an energy drink in front of him. Sylvain blinks down at the can; it’s the only flavour he likes, and what his veins are half full of at this point. It’s also not available at school, or in any of the shops on the way here. Which means Felix had to have picked it up specially. 

Sylvain smiles brightly in reply, and Felix rolls his eyes just as the bell rings. The others stand, collecting their books ready to get to class. Mercie stands too, moving over to Annette and chatting brightly, as Ingrid practically pulls Dimitri from his seat, parting with a bright smile as he protests he can walk.

“Focus in your Chemistry already,” Felix mutters as he leaves, sparing him no other parting words before he marches off, leaving Sylvain blinking after him. 

Mercie return to the seat next time, any energy she had now vanished. 

“It’s nice they’re friends. Felix is sweet, and Annette had trouble making friends in her first year. We’re next door neighbours,” she says at his questioning look. 

“Oh nice,” he says, unable to think of what else to say. Anyone Mercie is friends with is undoubtedly a good person but he still has that weird twisting feeling of seeing Felix with other friends. He needs to stop that though, it’s nice Felix has someone. Sylvain can’t be his only best friend forever. 

“We should probably work on Chemistry, that’s the first exam after all,” Mercie says, reluctant, and Sylvain agrees, grabbing the drink and popping open the lid with such practiced ease it barely hisses. 

It’s as he does he recalls Felix had suggested the same. Yet, Sylvain hasn’t mentioned in a while his exam schedule. He smiles to himself as he takes a sip, the lethal combination of caffeine and sugar buzzing in his head almost instantly. He doesn't need to worry about his friendship with Felix. Not at all. 

* * *

Sylvain’s sixteenth birthday comes and goes in a flurry of stress and sleepless nights. He doesn’t really celebrate this year, and doesn’t really care. Not a lot comes at this age, and although a few of his team mates suggest a party, he’s not really that keen. It feels too far away from a real celebration, and although they have older siblings who don’t mind buying them beer, Sylvain isn’t that keen on getting caught drinking. His father has been watching him ever more closely this summer, and he’s just not interested in giving him an excuse to lay down the law. 

He hasn’t seen them as much of his best friends as usual through the summer. He goes to basketball camp for two weeks, and Ingrid to riding camp. Felix is on holiday with his family and comes back just before Sylvain’s exam results, so he spends most of his time with Dimitri, and occasionally his friend Dedue. Dedue is quiet and serious, which is actually a good balance when they are without a stalling point of Felix and Ingrid. 

It’s a few days before exam results and Sylvain’s nerves are on edge. He longs, strangely, to call Felix and hear him sigh exasperatedly, tell him he’s worried about nothing. But he doesn’t, Felix has barely answered messages since he’s been away, which makes sense. Now Glenn is at university, he’s probably spending every second with his brother. He flies home today, and Sylvain keeps looking at his phone, having demanded a message as soon as he’s home. 

“I am sure you will be fine, Sylvain. Tomorrow will be a day for victory,” Dedue comments, startling him. 

“Yes, most certainly. We should celebrate!” Dimitri says, and Sylvain smiles at their attempts to distract him. 

“Sure, although I asked Hilda if she wanted to go out, so…” he finishes, waving his hand. 

Dimitri sighs. “I don’t know how you do it. One of the girls in my class sent me a love letter, and I have no idea how to respond,” he says, face falling. 

“It may not have been a girl,” Dedue says, and Dimitri’s face remains just as perplexed.

“I wouldn’t know what to say either. What would you say, Sylvain?” 

Sylvain actually pauses. Not because he doesn't have an answer but because he does. And that answer is  _ depends if they’re cute _ . Which is...well it’s a new thought. Yet not. For he knows he categorises men occasionally in the same way as women, he just hasn’t until this second really looked on it in anything more than it is, just a passing thought. 

But actually having a thought to a specific question of what he would do if he received a love letter from a guy means that there is more to it than this. Because it would be the same as if it was a girl. Exactly the same as a matter of fact. 

And what does that mean? 

“Sylvain? Are you okay? Really, your results are going to be fine,” Dimitri says, and Sylvain shakes his head, trying to rid the confusion of his mind for now. 

“Sorry, you got me thinking about cute girls again. And if you ever want someone to respond to your letters, you know I’m the best person,” he says, and Dimitri sighs. 

They end up watching a movie, as both decide Sylvain needs a distraction. And they are right really, they just don’t know what from. For the results are in the back of his mind now, and are for the entire journey home. 

So. He likes men and women. Would think of them the same way if he got a love letter from either. At least, that’s what he thinks, he hasn’t had the chance to actually test this theory, seeing as its brand new. But does he even need to test that? It feels natural and normal as a fact. It also opens out something. Could his soulmate be a man? 

As if to test this, Sylvain turns over his arm. Sure enough, his mark is visible, but it’s been so all day. It hasn’t changed at all with the realisation, but it never really does do much other than appear on and off. So no indication that this could mean anything for his soulmate. 

One thing is for certain though: his father would not like that. He’s been around him long enough to know his thoughts on these matters, and not to mention he constantly talks about the importance of carrying on the family line. Because of course that’s all he cares of prestige and power. 

Thoughts of his father brings him back to tomorrow, and he turns over, sticking his head under the covers. No matter how well or badly he’s done, tomorrow signals another shortening of his freedom. For he’ll be told what to study, what direction he should travel in to meet his father’s aims. 

He needs to fight this. But how? His father has finally given in and accepted Ingrid is not his soulmate, but he’s still pushing Sylvain into following his footsteps. How can he live his own life, do his own thing and find the person he actually loves? 

Is any of that even possible? And is it even worth the effort? Because breaking free of that iron grip will come at a huge cost, and one he doesn’t know he’s necessarily ready to pay. 

He sighs into the dark, trying to force his mind from worrying, only to be jolted back to his senses when the vibration of his phone awakes him. He slams a hand out and winces at the light of the screen, but sits up with a grin when he sees the awaiting message. 

**Felix:**   
_ Flight was delayed, home now and going to sleep. Don’t spam me with messages. _ _   
_ _ It will be fine.  _

Sylvain chuckles to himself and sends a long list of smiles as a reply, before putting his phone down and turning over. He’s still nervous, and doesn’t think he’ll sleep well, but the message along with his friends belief in him does help. 

True to his thoughts, he doesn’t sleep well. He yawns all the way into school to collect the papers, each lined out in a row by their last names. The room is silent, and all of them wander to their names, exchanging glances before they are ushered outside. Sylvain and Mercie leave in tandem, each one clutching their scores. 

“Okay...on three?” Sylvain says, as Mercie looks as if she’s about to be sick. She nods, and he counts down, and then in tandem they flip open their pages. 

Sylvain sweeps his eyes across the scores. As he does, he feels the dizzying highs of achievement, but the sinking knowledge of the chain tightening yet again. He’s done exactly as his father wanted, exactly as the Gautier heir should. 

“I-I did it!” 

Mercie throws her arms around his neck and he laughs, spinning her around. She yelps and he puts her down with a wink, peering over at her scores. 

“Wow, amazing work. First step towards your dreams, right?” he says. 

She beams, and the choke hold increases. Unlike her, he has no goals, no aims other than to spend time with his friends and play sports. What would it feel like to be this happy about a longer term ambition of his own? 

“May I see yours?” she asks, and he hands over the paper. 

Mercie blinks. “Oh my...Sylvain, these scores are incredible! Wow, did you see your math? And literature, hey that’s your highest!” 

Sylvain stops, blinking at the paper. He hadn’t noticed that, actually surprised at the almost perfect score, just scraping above mathematics. He shrugs. 

“I just liked the book this year,” he says, and Mercedes nudges his arm. 

“You should take lit. They said you could take five subjects, right? Just do it, you’ll enjoy it,” she encourages, and he realises she’s right. He would, and he only does need the four to please his father. 

It’s a small thing, and it would be a lot of work. But it would be his, and his alone. 

“I’ll think about it,” he says, but can tell Mercie knows he’s already decided. 

His father doesn’t say anything on the journey home, and deliberately hushes him when he tries to mention his grades. Sylvian is initially confused but then realises they’ll be going through an entire pantomime of handing over the paper for him to inspect, in his office at an appropriate time. 

“Excellent work, as expected. You can take further maths, economics, mathematics and business studies. You’ll be certain to get a place at Kingdom University if you can keep up these grades for the next two years,” he says, sitting back expectantly. 

The next six years of his life are spread out before him just like that, pieced together by tradition and expectancy, so without even thinking, his new found plan spills out. 

“I’m going to take literature as my fifth. I’ll do all those, but I want to take Lit,” he says, voice echoing, and fists clenching. 

His father blinks. “Why on earth is that?” 

But he has an answer that is not his reason, and it comes out without thinking. 

“An arts subject shows variety, and it looks good for communication skills when applying, which I’ll need in the future. Plus taking five subjects gives me an edge,” he says swiftly. 

“Five relevant subjects would, yes. Literature is not relevant,” his father replies. 

There’s silence, Sylvain not blinking as his father scrutinises. Then, suddenly, he sighs. 

“Fine. Variety doesn’t hurt, combined with your athletic ability it does give you a more rounded application. I expect though, that you keep your scores high, or you’ll drop literature and focus on the others. Agreed?” 

Sylvain nods, trying not to smile too hard, enjoy that final tiny spark of his own making. He turns to leave, conversation over. He pulls open the door only to hear his father call to him. 

“I’m proud of you, son,” he says, then looks down as if the words were never spoken. 

Sylvain doesn’t reply, but leaves his office and walks down the stairs, going outside on autopilot. He picks his phone out of his pocket, the screen busy with the messages from his friends, those in his class comparing and commiserating, and from his three best friends pestering him for answers. 

Ingrid has been wishing him luck and asking for him to call, Felix has just sent one simple message, but it’s the earliest of the three, and Dimitri’s sent a series of sweet but increasingly concerned messages with his silence. He grins, now walking around the back part of the house, into the edge of the property as he circles and pulls up the message from Felix, about to reply. 

“It’s all working out for you, isn’t in wonder boy?” 

Sylvain spins, message half sent and see Miklan standing there, hair a mess and skin pale, glaring with that heat and bite he’s always had. A familiar tremor passes through him, but he pushes it down. It’s been months since he’s seen his brother, and he’s not going to be afraid of his childhood bully. 

“It’s just exam results,” he says, feeling the heaviness set in. 

Miklan however scoffs and stalks towards him, Sylvain backing away until his legs hit brick and he’s forced to stop. 

“It’s never just anything with you. All you have is that mark, and yet you’re the favourite, the one  who's meant for greatness. You’re not worth that,” he hisses. 

“Don’t you think I know that? I don’t want to be forced into these things, I don’t want the attention, I never have!” he yells, arms flying out and stumbling a bit more. He turns and moves slightly as he realises he’s hit the old well from when the property was once a manor house, but Miklan grabs his collar. 

Up close, Sylvain can smell that tinge of malt and bitterness, knowing instantly his brother has been drinking. He’s surprised his father even let him in when he’s in this state, and he struggles against the hold. Sylvain is stronger than he was at thirteen, and yet Miklan is still bigger, and still holds onto his shirt with a manic grin. 

But he’s at least tipsy, and slower. So Sylvain wrenches at his grasp, then kicks out, sending him off balance. Mikan stumbles, as as he does falls forward, almost pushing him backwards as he lets go in order to right himself. 

And this is where Sylvain goes wrong. For the momentum sends him directly backwards, legs hitting into the small stone wall of the well, and although he fans his hands out, his phone cracking audibly as it hits the brick, he keeps on travelling. He twists, stomach scraping painfully even through his shift, hand flying out to grip uselessly for purchase, just about hanging on. 

That is, until there’s a pressure on his back. A force slams into him and he tilts arms and fingers slipping and he loses any previously saving support and he’s suddenly at the whim of gravity. 

He tumbles down the well. 

He screams, arms hitting painfully as the world turns dark; his head knocks on side and everything fades, bursts of pain from multiple places as he lands. For that’s all he recalls, just landing, vision fading in and out in grey-scale, part darkness part injury. 

It becomes clearer eventually. Sylvain can’t tell if he’s actually passed out, but for some reason his pounding head seems to have gained order at least temporarily. He’s sitting in water, but only a small amount, legs drenched. He tries to stand but he screams as a blinding pain shoots through his ankle. His right arm feels sore but also numb, and that can’t be good. 

The well isn’t that deep, and he looks up into the shaft of light, but all he can see is sky. Sky and cloud, rimmed in darkness. He swallows, once and then again before calling out. 

“M-Miklan? Miklan? Help!” 

He starts coughing and he doesn’t think his voice is carrying but he tries once more, then just screams until he’s sobbing hysterically but his ankle hurts so much, there’s a biting pain in his side when he shifts, his arm is useless and there’s no way he can climb out. 

No one knows he’s there. No one. 

In a panic, he grips his arm. There’s no soulmark mark there today but he holds in anyway, held falling against the wall and wonders whether they’ll know if he dies here. For he’s stuck, his vision slipping even now and there is not a single person out there who can help. 

He hugs his arm to his chest, feeling the ache that’s growing steadily, and if he imagines slowly, the faint outlines of the soulmark. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispers to them, voice thin and quiet. 

And he is sorry. Sorry that he’ll never get to meet them, sorry that even if he had been given the chance, he probably isn’t the soulmate they could have wished for. Too bound by others expectations, barely even a person of his own. And now he’ll never have a chance to be. 

He’s sorry to his brother too. He doesn’t hate having a soulmate, he loves that idea. Now he’s alone in the dark, the cold and the damp, the idea of warm arms around him, pulling him out of this and all the other parts of the shadows in his head is everything he knows is missing. 

But. 

The mark has cut his family in two, and he understands why Miklan is like this. How the years chipped away at his heart and drew them away from one another and he hates that his father did that. That he placed so much importance on his mark for all the wrong reasons and now Sylvain sits at the bottom of a well. 

_ You can drown in very little water, you know. _ His mind reminds him, as he struggles to keep his eyes open. He shifts, leaning up against the wall, and tries for one more scream that is probably more of a whimper. He hopes that by leaning this way, he won’t fall into the water. It’s all the hope he can give himself. 

As his eyes flutter, and his mind spirals, his last coherent thought is that he never did actually finish that message to Felix. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And this is where the angst begins...
> 
> I'm on: [Twitter](http://www.twitter.com/EnlacingL/) and [Tumblr](http://enlacinglineswrites.tumblr.com) so please do come say hi!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What about your soulmate?” Ingrid asks, and all three look at him while he feels his annoyance rise. 
> 
> “What about them? Who knows if I’ll find them, if we’ll even like each other. What am I meant to do, sit here and wait for them my whole life?” he challenges.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for continuing to support this story! You are all wonderful. 
> 
> The chapter count has changed, as I've now almost finished drafting this entire story. I'm excited to keep sharing it with you! 
> 
> Audrey/Interstelklance, thank you so much as ever for betaing, you are the greatest. She's also posted her first Sylvix story so you should definitely check it out. 
> 
> Enjoy reading!

Time passes, of that he is aware. It’s a blinding darkness, a chorus of sounds that may be voices, perhaps familiar and perhaps not, it’s too difficult in Sylvain’s exhausted haze to tell. 

He hurts, he aches, he feels oddly warm and cold in the same second but he doesn’t really want to feel any of it, just crazed sleep. Wants to fade and drift into some sort of serene nothingness that for the first time ever, keeps his head empty. He enjoys it here in this empty world; if this is dying then it isn’t nearly as bad as he’s always feared. 

The pain begins to increase though; pressure points in his head, ankle and arm that pulse and throb from the nothing. He tries to push them down but they cluster, gain momentum until he can no longer ignore them. 

It is then, that he wakes up. 

He knows instantly it’s a hospital, with the uniform muted colours, even before he clocks onto the wires attached to his arm. He blinks, eyes sticky as everything swims into focus, his throat so incredibly dry it aches. He wets his lips and tries to sit up, but his movement is impeded by both his leg and arm, immobilized and out of his reach. 

His breathing comes in shallow pants as his memory slowly forms. The well. He’d struggled with Miklan and then he’d been pushed, and his brother had just left him, injured and alone for goodness knows how long and-

He can’t breathe. With his uninjured arm he grips the railing of the gurney and bows over, hoping his body will somehow gain more oxygen if he’s tipped, but it doesn’t help. All he can recall is that small space, that helpless sensation pushing him deeper in the shallow water, how convinced he was this would be the last thing he sees. 

There’s the sound of the door and running feet, but doesn’t comprehend until there’s a doctor kneeling by him, soothing voice in his ear. 

“It’s okay, inhale, come on, that's it. Hold the breath for one...two...okay, let it go, and let’s start again…” 

The rhythmic inhale-hold-exhale pattern gets easier, and eventually he manages to settle, throat still raw and dry, eyes stinging from tears he doesn’t have the fluids for. The doctor helps him drink a glass of water, her face kind and patient. 

“I know it’s not fun waking up alone, I’m sorry about that. Your father should be back later. Can you answer a few questions for me?” 

He nods, and they go through simple things, his name, date of birth and the name of the city. When they’ve established he’s not suffering from any memory loss, they fill him in on the details. 

“Your elbow is fractured, your ankle badly twisted. You’ll need to stay off it for a while, and there’s some swelling on your knee too. You just need to be very careful with that leg. You had three stitches to your head and you’ve broken two ribs. It really was a nasty fall, but if you’re patient, you’ll heal in no time,” she says, smiling brightly, while Sylvain’s mind stutters and fixates on one part of the sentence. 

_ Fall.  _

He stays quiet, not going to correct her until he finds out where she gained that information. She could know he’s fallen down a well, but it’s an odd turn of phrase. What’s more likely is-

His stomach twists and he gulps down bile, reaching with a shaking hand for the water. He’s not ready to think on that just yet, wants to hold on before he jumps to conclusions he just cannot deal with. 

There are cuts on his fingers, nails all ragged and torn from scrambled attempts to save himself or to climb out. He stares at the wounds as the doctor leaves, the only evidence that it wasn’t a hallucination. But he knows he has to wait until someone gives him an answer. 

He doesn’t have to wait long. His father strides into the room, nodding at Sylvain in a pleased manner as if he’s just performed a mildly entertaining trick. 

“You're awake, I told them you would be today. Good. Now, we can have you released and back home this afternoon,” he says. 

Sylvain starts, peering at his father. He’s literally just woken up and he’s already being told to leave? His injuries aren’t life threatening, but equally this seems premature. His body aches all over, let alone the actual injuries, and he feels far too cold considering it’s the height of summer. None of this seems sensible. 

But it is what happens. The doctors do not seem too happy either, but they let it occur. Sylvain’s father is given a list of instructions, his follow up appointment at the fracture clinic for next week and a prescription of painkillers before he’s being taken to the car in a wheelchair by a porter, who helps him into the front seat with more care than Sylvain has received in months. 

It makes his lip wobble, but now is not the time to cry. 

The drive is silent. Sylvain shivers into the leather seat, carelessly watching the world move by as they speed the short distance home. He feels a little sick by the time they arrive, and with no wheelchair, his father has to half carry him inside. In his absence, the downstairs spare room has been made up for him, considering it’s too much at the moment for him to use the stairs. 

He collapses in bed with a groan, and settles under the covers with a wince. His father helps him arrange the pillows so his fractured arm is propped up, just as instructed. Sylvain expects him, wants him to leave once this is done so he can sleep, but to his annoyance and surprise, his father stays, staring down at him seriously. 

“It was a bad fall down the stairs. You knocked yourself out on the banister, and tried to stop your fall. I took you to hospital. Your phone broke as you did, I’ll have that repaired today. Your friends will be worried, and you can tell them about your...accident. Felix has already tried to call,” he adds, eyes sharp and words just as brutal. 

Sylvain’s breathing accelerates again. He wants to scream, wants to jump out of bed and shake his father until he recognises exactly what he’s done. 

“Sylvain? Do you understand?” his father says, voice rising. 

_ I understand you are covering up what happened, and I won’t let you do this _ , he thinks, but he can’t talk, there’s something crawling up from his chest and into his throat, preventing air from flowing correctly. 

So he just nods. As he needs this to end, all of it to just stop because he’s too tired and too weak to protest. 

“Good. Oh, I forgot to mention yesterday, but your brother has decided to study abroad. A last minute decision, he wasn’t able to say goodbye. He’ll contact us when he’s settled I’m sure,” his father says, smiling in a way that can only be a threat, the closest Sylvain has ever had to one. 

His father doesn’t bother waiting for a reply, just sweeps out without even a backwards glance at his son. The door closes and with its final slam Sylvain drags himself up as his chest starts to heave, ignoring the way his arm protests.

It takes him a long time to be able to breathe normally again. 

* * *

On top of his injuries, he ends up with a nasty cold. His father returns his phone, but by then his temperature has spiked, and he’s too drowsy with fever and pain to be able to do anything. 

He has no motivation either. He doesn’t want to lie to his friends, nor to face them in this state. Sylvain’s panic attacks happen at random intervals, especially at night. He has to sleep with a lamp on for the first time ever, the dark has never made him afraid until now. 

Between the fever and the pain in his arm, sleep comes in waves. Days pass in a blur of meals and attempts to read which fail, and small check-ins from his father. Other than that, he is a prisoner of his body and his own thoughts, trying to realign with no direction. 

His soulmark is clear and bright. He eyes it through the yellow glow of the lamp, tracing the figure with a finger. Those emotions he felt at the bottom of the well trickle upwards; above all else the knowledge that he wants this. Whatever this might be, he’s willing to follow it to the end, to know and seek out this person whom he can share his world with. 

But he can’t. 

Not while he’s under the thumb of his father, not while he can’t give them all he is because he doesn’t think he can be his own person. He may never be able to be himself, whoever that is, and it sinks into his gut like concrete. 

His father will only try and bring him together with a woman he sees as a fitting match, his brother will always try to strike out against him, and he isn’t strong enough to deal with either. He may never be. He can’t imagine a world where he is. Sylvain doesn’t even know who he is any more; he creates a character and words that he plays every single day, with the exception of three people in his life, who now he’s going to have to start lying to as well. 

And his soulmate doesn’t deserve that. No one deserves to be brought into his life and experience what he does, no one deserves a person who can’t be true to anyone and anything. 

“I’m so sorry,” he whispers as he traces the lines, the same thing he’d thought before. He inhales deeply. 

“You deserve someone else. I hope you find someone who can make you happy. I don’t think I’ll be able to. You should know that I care about you a lot though. And if I ever figure out how to be better, I’ll come and find you. Nothing will be able to stop me,” he promises to his wrist, and although his hope is low, his voice is stronger than it’s been in days. 

He sleeps after, imagines cool hands soothing his fever, a voice lulling him to some sort of peace as he slips in and out of fever dreams until it finally breaks, and he rides out the last of the illness in his system. 

As he wakes, someone is talking. He keeps his eyes shut as he’s still so tired, and he’s been alone for what feels like an eternity, so that having anyone to listen to feeling like a balm over an itch. After a few minutes of listening though, his mind catches up, and he realises the person isn’t talking, they’re reading. 

He turns his head and cracks open his eyes. The sunlight in the room hints at past morning, back-lighting the figure sitting to the side, like one of those renaissance angel paintings he’d studied in history. The thought alone pulls his dry lips into a smile, for Felix would kill him if he knew Sylvain had thought of him as angelic, but in the moment he is. Relaxed, head tilted on one arm as he reads slowly from the novel on his lap, dark hair slipping out of a messy bun as the sun shines down on him. 

Sort of beautiful, but in a calm, comforting way that burrows into Sylvain’s chest and lifts him upwards. That is until Felix’s eyes flicker up and he starts, obviously not expecting Sylvain to be looking back. 

He recovers quickly, face morphing into that so familiar look of slight disgruntled exasperation. 

“Finally awake,” he grumbles, but drags his chair closer. 

Sylvain nods, and it seems to take an age to complete the motion. Felix frowns, and places a hand on his forehead, Sylvain closing his eyes at the contact on instinct. 

“Your fever’s gone down,” he remarks. 

“Your hand is so cold. Wait, no come back I like it,” he says, as Felix retreats, and almost growls in frustration as Sylvain laughs. It turns into a cough though, and Felix mutters about him being an idiot as he helps him sit up and take a sip of water. 

“How long have you been here?” Sylvain asks once he’s calmed. 

Felix shrugs. “A while. You’ve been asleep. You didn’t answer any of us, we were worried,” he says, and guilt seeps through Sylvain. 

He sighs heavily. “Sorry, I haven’t really been in a replying mood,” he says, looking away. 

“I know, it’s not-I mean...we worried, you idiot,” Felix finishes, tripping over the words in a way he doesn’t usually. 

Sylvain offers him what he hopes is a comforting smile. He doesn’t have much else he can offer, so he does his best. 

“How did you manage to fall down the stairs anyway?” Felix says, leaning forward. 

Sylvain’s hand trembles. He’s known this moment is coming, this time when his mask has to be drawn down for someone who has always truly known him, but now it’s here, he hesitates. He wants to tell Felix, wants him to reach out and hold his hand while he frets about everything but he can’t. He doesn’t know if Felix will still be there in the end, or if once the words leave his lips he’ll be sent to some remote corner of the world like Miklan. 

He isn’t strong. So he shuts the door, and bolts it with a smile. 

“No idea, don’t remember. Guess I really am an idiot,” he says, and aches with just how genuine his laugh sounds in his ears. 

Felix’s face moves though, a flicker of an expression which Sylvain can’t quite catch before he settles back in his chair. Sylvain gulps. He knows then, that Felix can tell he’s lying. A gap is forming between them before his very eyes and he almost jumps for it, almost reaches out. But then Felix breaks eye contact and the moment is lost. 

“You should rest,” he declares, and Sylvain nods. 

“You gonna read to me some more?” he teases, but to his surprise, Felix gives a short nod, before opening the book and picking up as if he’d never stopped. At some point, Sylvain falls back to sleep to the timbre of his voice, for he wakes up with the light fading and Felix gone. In his place is box of his favourite sweets, balanced perfectly on the book. 

His father decides he needs staggered visits, so by the time Ingrid arrives, he’s moving around more. She scolds him for being careless and helps him do his arm exercises, which basically ends up with him complaining that he can’t do it, and her standing over him until he completes them. 

“My father has been working a lot lately. I haven’t really seen anyone, it’s odd,” she says as they walk slowly up the stairs, Sylvain going slow with his still sore leg. 

“Really? He isn’t usually that busy is he?” Sylvain asks, stopping gratefully as they reach the top, resting a little. 

Ingrid chews her lip and Sylvain studies her. She is obviously worried, but she shrugs it off. 

“It’s fine, I can take care of myself. Plus it’s nice to have some space,” she announces, and genuinely looks cheerful about that. 

“Does he still think Glenn is your soulmate?” Sylvain asks. He isn’t usually one to pry but he cannot get the idea of marks out of his head since he made his decision. 

Is he right to discard it for now? Should he fully hope? But then he recalls the way Felix looked at him when he lied about the fall, and if his friend does that, what on earth would his soulmate think? 

He doesn’t want to disappoint anyone else. 

To his surprise, Ingrid flushes at the question and he immediately grins. 

“Well, you like the idea,” he teases and she swipes at him, halfheartedly though, mindful of his injuries. 

“I’m not...Glenn is nice. I don’t know. I’m not really thinking about it seriously but well…I don’t know,” she says, shaking her head. He can see her mulling it over, and now he’s started, he can’t stop.

“Has your mark changed?” he asks, and Ingrid shakes her head. 

“No. Which is why I am not holding onto it,” she says, serious as ever. They walk to his room and Sylvain opens the door, letting her pass. They both fall onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling in a comfortable if contemplative silence. 

“That doesn’t mean he’s not, you know,” he adds, and Ingrid laughs a little. 

“Really Sylvain, I’m not that focused on it. I have other things to worry about. It seems like it’s more important to our parents than us,” she says, and Sylvain laughs in agreement, hoping she can’t sense the bitter tone which accompanies it. 

By the time Dimitri is allowed to visit, school is almost starting up again and Sylvains’s arm is weak but healing. They wander the grounds and Dimitri bemoans and apologises for the fact it’s taken him so long to visit. 

“Don’t worry, I know I’m still your favourite,” Sylvain says, slinging an arm around his shoulders. 

“Of course,” Dimitri says with a laugh leaning into him. “Honestly I tried to come sooner but your father was pretty insistent you needed rest. I don’t know how Felix got to see you so early. Probably as he knew something was wrong.” 

The statement makes Sylvain pause. He frowns and looks over at Dimitri. 

“What do you mean?” he says, and Dimitri looks back at him, confusion mirroring his own. 

“Oh, I was staying with him when it happened; father is on another extended business trip. He suddenly decided he needed to talk to you, was very insistent, he almost asked Glenn to drive him to your place. Said you weren’t answering messages, and so he called your house. I think that’s when your father found you. Pretty bad of him to have not noticed you fall down the stairs,” Dimitri comments and Sylvain laughs nervously. 

“He was outside when it happened. I was alone in the house. Oh, I was messaging Felix at the time, I probably sent a bunch of nonsense,” he says with a laugh, rubbing the back of his head to cover his awkwardness, and hoping he can shift the conversation. 

“No different than usual then,” Dimitri says, and Sylvain gasps, hand on his heart as he stumbles. 

“I am wounded, Dimitri, wounded. Everything I send is glorious and full of wisdom,” he says. 

“Yes, you are full of wisdom. If one wants to know about girls,” Dimitri says with a roll of his eyes. 

“And does one? Because, I am here to train you in the best ways to talk to girls, Dimitri. You need all the help you can get,” he adds and Dimitri splutters. 

“I am perfectly fine, thank you,” he says and Sylvain laughs. 

“Offer is always open,” he says and pushes down any thoughts of the past and his fall as the summer draws to an end.

* * *

The first time Sylvain kisses a boy is the first time he ever drinks. It’s also the first time he explicitly disobeys his father, and it’s the highs of tiny rebellions that takes him through the night. 

He was told not to go to this party, well in fact he’s been told not to go to any parties, but he does anyway, held by the older sister of one of his teammates. It’s a mix of their team, and others in the year above, a variety of begged and occasionally bought alcohol on offer as music blasts through the kitchen and the back garden fills with cigarette ash. 

It all tastes the same to Sylvain, burns as it goes down, fills him with an excitable freedom that has him smiling more than he’s done in months, laughing harder and with actual purpose as he danced, yells and stumbles around with his friends. 

Outside is freezing. He refuses the offer of a smoke and tips the last of his drink into his mouth, savouring the numbness as it slips from his throat into his veins. He sits down next to someone he doesn’t know; a guy with green eyes that flicker in the darkness, seem to glow from the backlight of the house and the stars above them, so clear despite it not being that late. 

His name is Ely. They are the same age, but he goes to a different school, and they talk. For hours until Sylvain’s fingers are white with cold, and Ely holds them in his to stop the chill. He won’t remember what it is they discuss later, or how he became so enraptured, but he will always remember the kiss. 

They lean in almost in tandem, perhaps him a little faster, so caught in his own heartbeat and anticipation. The kiss is as chaste as possible in it’s beginnings, more of a press of lips than an actual kiss but it doesn’t stay this way. Sylvain heats as it deepens, the mouth against his an inferno against the January chill, his hands warming on stumble and skin as he cups Ely’s jaw. It extends, time melts, and between kisses they grin, laugh and toss words without meaning before diving in for more warmth, more push and pull, more buzz and bruising of lips, catching on teeth and startled gasps. 

It stays as part of that hazy night though, mumbled goodbyes without swapping numbers, and Sylvain wakes in the morning curled up in an armchair with his head pounding, eyes gummy with lack of sleep. He catches a ride back to his house, but is too late to sneak in. He’s not even sure he would have bothered though, he’s grinning ear to ear as his father half drags him to his office. 

“You cannot behave this way. You have a reputation to uphold,” he shouts, and Sylvain has to stifle a yawn. 

“I didn’t do anything, I just went to a party. Didn’t break anything, didn’t cause a scene, it’s fine,” he replies with a shrug and watches his father’s eye twitch with immense satisfaction. 

Ever since the summer, it’s all seemed less. That’s the only way he can describe it. His classes are less interesting, he's busy with the volume of work but none of it is particularly hard, and his grades still stay firmly at the top of his classes. He doesn’t feel the stress his friends do, isn’t drowning under assignments or fretting about mock exams next month. 

It all just seems to barely matter, a vague responsibility on his shoulders that he moves through with the air of a ghost, not quite able to actually touch. It’s a creeping numbness that’s arrived with winter and he doesn’t have the will or the need to fight it. 

He’s tired. All the time, of the way his life spirals before him in other’s hands. These moments when he feels awake are when he acts: kisses a boy, spends time with the friends he’s made, reads a novel for the sake of it and skips class to go to see a band in the city. 

“You say that, but you look a disgrace, and others will have seen you in a worse state. You’re a Gautier, Sylvain. Act like one,” he snaps, and turns away. 

Sylvain is dismissed and the rebuff slides of his skin as he tiredly moves to his room. Being a Gautier means being a controlling asshole and he’s many things, but he’s not that. As he falls onto his bed, his phone chimes, a flurry of photos falling into their team chat. He swipes through, pausing on one with Ely, arm around his neck and and heads knocked together as they grin into the camera. It’s nice, and he saves it. There’s one of him kissing the cheek of one of his friends on the athletics team as she winks, and a few of their team. The comments make him laugh, and he sends back vague replies that can be interpreted in many ways before settling himself for a nap. 

What he forgets is Dimitri is in that chat, and with Lambert now almost exclusively based away, he pretty much lives with Felix, so nothing stays secret long.

They’re out on a Friday after school for dinner, where Ingrid orders more food than Sylvain thinks it’s possible for any one person to eat and yet again she proves him wrong, when it’s brought up. 

“Is she your girlfriend now?” Dimitri asks, leaning forward a little. It’s been a few weeks since the party, but rumors take longer to die down. 

“Which one?” Sylvain asks, not actually realising how it sounds until Ingrid makes an ‘urg’ sound in his direction. He’d honestly been questioning which photo, considering there’s only one person he made out with at the party and it wasn’t a girl. The others are all just friends. 

“The answer is no anyway, I’m not dating anyone,” he says with a shrug and helps himself to a few of Dimitri’s fries. 

“The others seemed to think you were pretty friendly with one of them,” Dimitri protests and Felix steals more of his food. 

“Again, which one, be more specific. But yeah we’re friends, that’s all,” he says. 

“Why are you always like this?” Ingrid says with a heavy sigh and Sylvain frowns. 

“Why does it matter? I got drunk, kissed one person, none of which are the people you’re thinking of,” he adds to Dimitri who opens his mouth as if to prove something. 

Felix has now eaten all of Dimitri’s dinner and Ingrid is working on Felix’s. He feels he should be questioning more of his friends‘ odd behaviours than his. 

“What about your soulmate?” Ingrid asks, and all three look at him while he feels his annoyance rise. 

“What about them? Who knows if I’ll find them, if we’ll even like each other. What am I meant to do, sit here and wait for them my whole life?” he challenges. 

Ingrid has always been a romantic, but even more so in the last year. And as Sylvain’s feelings have wandered in the other direction, steeling himself against any hope of a fated meeting. 

“I think Sylvain has a point. None of this is guaranteed and by acting we might find our soulmates faster,” Dimitri says, although he rubs his arm in a way that tells he’s not exactly comfortable with his answers either. 

“Doesn’t mean you need to act like you do,” Ingrid mutters and Sylvain shrugs, smiling at her. It doesn’t matter really, Ingrid would never understand even if he told them everything. Her view is just too far from his own. 

“I’m just having fun, Ingrid. I don’t expect them to sit around waiting for me either,” Sylvain says, genuinely hoping there isn’t someone pining for him, hoping for a prince charming when he’s anything but. 

“Right. And who knows, maybe you’ll never work out, even if you find them,” Dimitri says, and laughs, a low dark thing that has all three of them sitting straighter. Dimitri doesn’t notice though, just stares at the wall behind Sylvain.

“Are you okay?” Felix asks, sliding closer, and Dimitri seems to shake himself out of it, bumping Felix’s shoulder and giving him a smile. 

“Oh, of course!” he says, and it’s like a shadow passing overhead, a shift that changes him back to the person they know. 

Sylvain peers at him. It’s almost as if it never happened but perhaps it’s because Sylvain spends most of his time pretending to be something he isn’t that he knows when someone else is doing the same. It’s the first time he’s seen it in his friends, but whatever occurred then, Dimitri certainly is not okay. But Sylvain doesn’t know how to approach that, and it looks like Ingrid may be on the verge of asking another question. 

“Anyway, it’s not important, let’s move on,” Sylvain says, and Ingrid swiftly turns to him and gapes. At least he has her attention. 

“Did you just say your soulmate isn’t important?” she says incredulously, and Sylvain blanches.

He clears his throat. He feels the air around them thicken, his friends staring, awaiting an answer. For one of the first and only times in his life, his mind goes blank; he doesn’t have the perfect line, the instant retort guiding him. He doesn’t fully know the answer

_ See me,  _ he thinks, pleads almost in his head. Y _ ou know me, all of you. We shared our marks and you’ve always been here. You know I can’t say they are important to me. You know why I’m like this.  _

_ You know me.  _

So he crafts the lie over blank space and the little parts of truth he has realised, because it;s all he can do. 

“I just think right now, other things are more important,” he says, for he can’t quite bring himself to completely dismiss everything in his heart. 

Ingrid though, looks disappointed. Dimitri shrugs and seems to agree. Felix says nothing, but he barely looks at him, turning back to Dimitri and starting a separate conversation. 

And a part of Sylvain breaks and turns to ice as he realises he’s become so good at lying, he can now fool the three people who know him better than anyone. 

* * *

The pressures of the year only grow as spring fades in, and Sylvain spends less and less time doing anything but studying. Their exams aren’t for months, but still the work never ceases, endless essays, practice tests and random quizzes piled on their heads. 

Sylvain manages to balance it though. That general numbness presides over when it comes to academics, shielding him from the full amounts of pressure. None of it is hard; he feels like he’s walking on the edge of something, waiting for the next topic, the next test, the next set of numbers where he suddenly doesn’t understand; reaches a limit of what his mind can hold. But he doesn’t, explanations fuse and understanding swims in, only a few hours of reading and working to solidify ideas. 

Except, in his literature classes. Because it isn’t a formula; he can read the set texts, sure, but then it’s interpretation. It’s critique and subtext, twinning it with history and author context. It’s a challenge because there’s no answer, and he spends more time carefully crafting his literature homework than he does on any other class. 

He is impressed that as he starts getting into exam mode, and the other three begin trying to narrow down their studies for the first time in their academic career, they still almost always manage to spend their weekends together. Nowadays, they often go out, but as schoolwork piles up for all of them, Ingrid declares they should be responsibly studying with their Sunday. 

Which is rich, because Dimitri has given up studying and is playing a game on his handheld, making wounded noises every few minutes when he inevitably dies, Felix has opted to practice fencing form seeing as it’s his house and they have the room, rather than the history work which is due on Monday afternoon, and Ingrid is supposedly working on the same homework, but Sylvain can see her planning a triathlon with her friend instead. 

Sylvain though, seems to be the only one able to concentrate, for he’s actually on a roll with his latest assignment, swiftly moving between his annotated copy of Shakespeare, a reference book, and his laptop where he piece together the first part of the next essay he has due. He doesn’t even have to work on it now, but he’s had an idea which won’t let go, and knows he can do his other homework before class tomorrow. 

He’s so absorbed, he doesn’t even feel Felix sit down next to him until he reaches for his text and realises it isn’t there. He stares up, jumping a little at the sudden closeness of his friend and the fact he’s reading the play. 

He doesn’t know what to say, but Felix puts down the book before he can. 

“You like this,” he says, a fact not anything more. Strangely, Sylvain feels himself flush. No one, aside from Mercie and his Lit teacher, truly knows how much he enjoys this. Sylvain can count the things on one hand he truly enjoys and this is one of them. His grades look no different to any of his other classes, and he never really volunteers answers so no one knows how many times he scours the library and his father's old books for reference material, the amount of times he’s read and re-read Jane Eyre or To Kill a Mockingbird. 

“It’s pretty good for, you know, a play,” Sylvain says, slipping into a role he knows. 

Felix frowns, then strikes forward, pulling across his laptop so he can see the words on the page. Sylvain just about resists the urge to pull his work back and clutch it to his chest. 

Felix’s eyes scan the page, and they widen a little as he does. 

“This is...good,” he says, shock clear in his voice. Sylvain shrugs, the praise coursing through and making his cheeks light up. He always struggles in the scant moments when this happens. He’s not built to have people compliment him genuinely, and Felix is not one to say something without merit. 

“It’s just an outline,” he remarks, but Felix sits forward more, clearly invested. 

“What else is on your course?” he asks, and Sylvain gapes, before cautiously going through his reading list, Felix’s face lighting up with the volumes he knows. 

It seems to reform something between them which Sylvain hadn’t realised is fraying. The three are just as close as ever but oddly separate. Felix has always loved books so Sylvain isn’t quite sure why he hasn’t shared his discovery of his own adoration with him; perhaps as he’s always felt it’s at the whim of his father to take it away, demand he drop the subject and focus on real skills. But so far, Sylvain is in luck. 

They talk about books. On the weekends where they are all together, in their messages and in the times they meet when no one else is around. Sylvain often finds Felix waiting after fencing club when he’s finished another late study session, the two making their way home together. 

He’s therefore not that surprised when his birthday present is suspiciously book shapes. He sends Felix a wink, who rolls his eyes. It’s a subdued party, as they always seem to be now Sylvain has exams in less than two weeks, these ones helping to contribute as to where he’ll go to university, and for what subject.

Not that he has any choice. But he’s not thinking of that today. 

What is a surprise is, when he carefully peels off the wrapping paper, the golden etched curvature of the writing on a deep red cover; old, very old, and as he in awe with careful fingers opens the covers, the scent of parchment and ancient knowledge fills his senses, an instant comfort flowing over. 

“The Once and Future King...is this a first edition?” he says, voice barely above a whisper, as he stares at Felix. 

Felix huffs, turning his head but he’s blushing, he always is so easy to blush. It stirs Sylvain’s stomach, makes him swallow deeply at the immensity of this. This is Felix’s favourite book, and one Sylvain too loves. He’d read it to Felix countless times when they were children, and here, in his hands, is a master copy, ornate and pristine. 

It’s a perfect present, everything pales in comparison, including the car his father got him with the promise of lessons from next week. Not just because Sylvain adores the story and the beauty of the book itself but because it’s full of their memories, their story. 

He can barely hold himself together, and he doesn’t know what letting go would look like, so he reverently places the book down and throws his arms around Felix before his friend can move. 

“Sylvain, get off,” Felix grumbles, but does hug him back tentatively. 

“I love it, thank you,” he says in reply, the most true feeling he’s had all week. 

He squeezes Felix tighter, trying to convey just how much this means, and to his surprise, Felix pats his back and doesn’t demand to be released. It’s only as a laugh reaches their ears that they pull back slowly, in sync. 

Glenn moves forward, smiling widely. “Happy birthday, Sylvain. Do I get a hug too seeing as I found the book?” he teases, elbowing his younger brother, who literally growls. 

Sylvain obliges with a laugh, marvelling at the fact he’s now as tall as Glenn. He’s spent his entire life looking up at him, but now they stand at eye level, which still seems wrong. Glenn claps him on the back. 

“Felix does deserve all the credit though, I just found the shop selling it. A good choice, I think?” he says, and Sylvain nods, the happiest he’s been in so very long. 

Although it’s his favourite gift by far, the driving lessons are an unanticipated blessing. Sylvain hadn’t really considered learning to drive, but he picks it up just as naturally as anything. His father is strangely pleased by the development, and books him into an intensive week course of lessons for the week after his school exams are done. 

The next month passes in a blur of examinations, and by the time Sylvain’s exam period is over and he’s back at school, he’s driving himself in every day. Although the pressure is off for the actual school work, Sylvain finds himself enjoying the freedom, taking his friends out for lunches and giving people rides home. It’s how he learns of Felix’s end of year fencing competition. 

“Wait so you're in the finals and you didn't tell me?” Sylvain says, a little shocked as he turns to look at his friend. 

“Eyes on the road, idiot!” Felix yells and Sylvain looks back, rolling his eyes slightly as Felix hangs onto the door, posture stiff. 

“Calm down, we’re fine,” he says, taking a hand off the wheel for a second to wave nonchalantly in Felix’s direction, who hisses at him until he puts it back. 

There’s silence, just the beat of Felix’s musing playing, seeing as the rule appears to be that whenever Felix is in the car, they listen to his music. Not that Sylvain really minds. 

“It’s at eleven on Saturday. Glenn’s coming from the airport, but you can watch. Do not tell the others, especially Dimitri as I don’t want a scene. It’s not a big deal,” he says, in a way that indicates it most certainly is a big deal, but wants to maintain a facade, which must be hard with how much time he spends with Dimitri. Sylvain grins to himself, still amazed at fifteen there’s part of that six year old too shy to speak in there. 

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” he answers, and this coaxes the smallest of smiles out of Felix, and an enormous warmth to settle over Sylvain for the remainder of the drive. 

He ends up taking Felix, who has a lot of gear to carry, as it makes sense since Glenn is arriving straight from the airport. Sylvain gives Felix a one armed hug as he departs for the changing areas, Felix permitting it for half a second before pushing Sylvain toward the stands. 

As he enters, he hears his name called. He looks up a few rows to see Annette, waving at him enthusiastically. He returns it, although he can’t remember the last time he had a conversation with her. 

“Felix said you were bringing him, so I saved you and his brother a seat!” she says as he arrives, and he smiles gratefully. 

“Do you have a match too? I didn’t know you were on the team,” he says, clocking her uniform. 

“Ah, yes mine is this afternoon, I don’t have much hope though. I came early, I had to watch Felix’s final. Have you seen him fence? He’s amazing, it’s going to be a tough match,” she says, clearly excited. 

He feels a spike in his chest when he has to shake his head. For no, he has never seen Felix fence, never even asked to. True, Felix hasn’t mentioned he is competing but still, Sylvain hasn’t asked in a long time how his club is going. He acknowledges to himself he’s a bad friend but the crawling sensation isn’t stopping; it’s increasing, more guilt and a slight edge of almost nervousness sinking into the depths of him, as if this transgression is too much, too large and he should make amends instantly. 

It’s a ferocious emotion that he doesn’t know but Sylvain does when he always does when emotions arise: carries on and shows no change. 

“I’m sure you’ll do great, Annette,” he says with a wink and his best smile, and she flushes almost the same colour as her hair. Sylvain doesn’t wait for a reply, but turns back to where they’re setting up the first match. 

“I haven’t seen him fence yet, so do you mind explaining the rules?” he says, and she lights up, sitting straight and almost bouncing with delight as she launches into a surprisingly detailed explanation. 

It keeps them occupied through the first match, and Sylvain checks the time when Annette states Felix will be up next. Glenn still hasn’t arrived, and Sylvain scans the crowd while the set up continues, wondering if he hasn’t seen them. But when Annette grips his arm with a surprisingly strong hold, Felix’s brother still hasn’t arrived. 

He knows which one is his friend before Annette confirms. Something about his gait, his stance and his movement as he walks to the starting point just screams ‘Felix’, he can know without seeing his face. 

Then the match starts, and Sylvain is caught. 

He doesn’t hear the crowd, doesn’t hear Annette’s narrations, doesn’t perceive anything around him as he’s stuck with his heartbeat in his ears, transfixed on Felix. Sylvain knows nothing about fencing other than what he’s learned in the last few hours but he can tell Felix is exceptional. He’s graceful, sharp and fast, blade arching and body driving forward to meet his opponent. Fierce and dangerous, but precise and controlled. It’s a mix that works so well for this sport and matches Felix in every way. 

Sylvain’s mouth is dry, his nerves wired and his eyes widened enough to dry out. He can’t explain the strange combination of awe and pride, or excitement and anticipation of watching. He wants to get closer, scream for Felix to win and arch and glide more, he wants to see everything he can do. 

No one has ever had his attention like this. No one. Not a single person he’s flashed a smile at, blushed or met his words, no one has ever made him stare and drown the world out like Felix is doing now. 

And that, is instantaneously, terrifying. 

The match is over faster than Sylvain can believe, perhaps as time works differently in that strange haze which came over him, or perhaps as Felix really is that good. But either way, suddenly Annette is pulling him along and out of his seat to the sidelines where Felix stands. 

He’s pulled off his protective visor, hair half falling out of the bun he’d thrown it into in the car earlier, and half plastered to his face with sweat. Annette swoops in and hugs him before Sylvain can reach, and he’s a little put out that he’s not the first one to congratulate him on his victory. It’s also one of the first hugs in a long time he’s not seen Felix stop before it starts. 

The spiking jealousy and the nerve rattle grows. Sylvain tries to push it down. 

When the two part, Felix looks up at Sylvain; his face almost expectant, wondering, and Sylvain cannot stop a real, uncultured smile of teeth and squished cheeks bursting through. 

“You were amazing Felix. Congratulations,” he says, and his voice sounds off, not his own and he cannot fathom why he’s so off kilter today. 

Felix’s high flush darkens and he scoffs, toffing his head a little to see Sylvain more clearly through his hair. 

“Thanks, but you’re easily impressed. I should have seen half of those hits coming. Where’s Glenn?” he asks, before Sylvain or Annette have time to protest. 

Sylvain’s smile dies a little, more so when Felix’s expression falls. “I haven’t seen him. But maybe he couldn’t find us, airport traffic is always a pain,” he tries, but Felix’s nod is mechanical as he starts clearing up his gear, telling Sylvain he’ll meet him by the car. 

He exchanges a look with Annette, and the two try one last attempt at finding Glenn, but with no luck. She gives him a slightly sad smile but a cheery goodbye as she departs to get ready for her own match, and Sylvain makes his way to the car. 

Felix is already there, hair down and wet having showered in record time. He says nothing as he puts his bag in the back and slides into the passenger seat, typing furiously on his phone. Sylvain eyes him, but doesn’t interrupt as he pulls away, waiting for Felix to break the silence. 

He’s strangely aware of his friend, the ghosts of those previous feelings lurking on the edge of his mind. Sylvain has never had such a strong reaction to anyone, but he’s not a fool. He knows, theoretically what this could be, what it has the potential of being. But that is impossible, bizarre even, and he cannot even begin to-

“He’s not answering,” Felix says into the silence, knocking Sylvain from his spiral. 

Sylvain flicks his eyes to Felix, the downcast posture and the way he grips his phone tightly. He sighs. 

“I bet his flight has been delayed. He wouldn’t miss your match if he could help it. He’s probably still in the air and didn’t have a chance to tell you before he left,” Sylvain says, and Felix sighs, tipping backwards so his head bounces lightly on the headrest. 

Sylvian pauses, wanting to lighten the mood. “You must be starving, I’ll treat you to lunch. Celebrate your win, I’ll let you pick. Wherever you want,” he says, and sees out of the corner of his eye turn his head. He chances a glance and sees a tiny smile appearing on Felix’s face, long dark hair almost covering half of him, 

Sylvain’s throat clogs. 

“I can’t, I have lunch with dad and Glenn. But...maybe next weekend?” he says, voice very small, and Sylvain’s stomach lurches. 

“You got it, don’t you dare forget,” Sylvain says, and Felix chuckles. 

“I won’t,” he says, it sounding like a promise which rings in Sylvain’s ears. 

The rest of the drive is short and quiet, but Sylvain feels himself settle, that burst and buzz of the match fading into something more pleasant yet still tingling, a level of comfort with an edge of something else to it, that Sylvain knows he needs to address but not yet, not when he can just revel in this time for a moment. 

It’s all soft and normal, which is why when Sylvain turns into Felix’s drive, the sight of the police vehicle causes them both to sit up in tandem. Sylvain grips the wheels tighter and parks as quickly as he can, and as he turns off the engine, they both stay frozen. 

“Do you want me to come in with you?” Sylvain asks, turning to Felix who nods without hesitation, and then throws open his door. Sylvain hurries to catch him up, running to his side so they can enter the house at the same time. 

Rodrigue is already there. His face is drawn and shadowed in a way Sylvain has never seen, and he can hear voices speaking lowly from somewhere inside the house. Sylvain swallows, drawing closer to Felix, hands brushing much as they did when they were children. 

For Sylvain knows, whatever is about to happen, it’s going to be bad. 

The hallway doesn’t seem like a good place to have whatever conversation is about to occur, but neither Rodrigue or Felix are moving, both just looking at one another, the strain almost unbearable. 

“What’s going on?” Felix demands at last, and his voice only breaks in the last syllable, his hand beginning to shake against Sylvain’s. 

Rodrigue inhales, eyes staying glued on his son, not even seeming to register Sylvain’s existence. 

“Glenn is dead.” 

Sylvain hears himself choke. Next to him, Felix stills, so still that Sylvain wonders if he’s stopped existing, simply ceased in all ways. Then the treamours in his hand start up so violently that Sylvain grips his hand without thinking, Felix clutching back so strongly his fingers ache. 

_ Please tell me this isn’t real, _ Sylvain thinks to himself, anything but this.  _ Please don’t make him experience this, I’ll do it instead. Please, please, please- _

“There was a car accident last night. There was nothing that could be done. Now, I have to finish speaking to the police,” Rodrigue continues as if his youngest child, his  _ only _ child isn’t falling apart in front of him. 

Felix makes a sound, high and unintelligible in his throat and makes to take a step forward, but his father turns his back. Actually physically turn away and leaves Felix half poised on the edge of anguish. 

Sylvain has never, ever hated someone so much in his life.

But all that fades as Felix sobs. His other hand rises to his mouth as if to capture it, but it’s too late. Sylvain turns immediately and catches him as Felix drives forward and wails like a child into Sylvain’s chest. He grips his shirt, pulls hard and catches some of his skin as he scrambles for something to hang onto. And Sylvain clutches in return, one hand around his back and the other nearer his hair, tilting his head up to the ceiling and blinking away his own misty eyes. 

Felix sags, legs giving way and Sylvain swears under his breath as he has to adjust his hold, but Felix doesn’t seem to be able to notice anything as he’s almost screaming into Sylvain. Sylvain grapples with Felix for a second, before he gives up and lifts him so he’s carrying him, Felix wrapping himself around Sylvain like a sloth and moving his head up to cry into Sylvain’s neck. 

“Let’s go to your room, hold on tight,” Sylvain manages into Felix’s hair, but he’s not even sure he hears him. 

Going up the stairs is difficult, and Sylvain is convinced at several moments he’ll topple and they’ll both go crashing to their doom, but somehow they make it. He peeks over a couple of times, seeing if Rodrigue is going to come back, but he doesn’t despite the fact Felix is so incredibly loud in his sorrow. 

It makes Sylvain’s fist clench. But it’s not the priority now as he makes his way carefully to Felix’s bedroom. 

As soon as the door opens, Felix suddenly scrambles down, almost falls to the floor and grabs the small bin by the door and vomits. Sylvain closes his eyes in pain then turns abruptly, grabbing tissues and a half drunk bottle of water from the nightstand, crouching by Felix and offering them silently. 

He’s still crying and shaking, so once Sylvain is sure he’s more stable, he gently leads him over to the bed, urging him to lie down. Felix does but grabs him, and Sylvain willingly goes, Felix curling up into his chest as he cries. 

Sylvain doesn’t say anything. He can’t tell Felix it’s going to be okay, because it isn’t. They are living in a rupture of the world, every second from now will never be the same again and it’s going to hurt so much before it starts to ease. So instead he strokes Felix’s back, pets his hair on occasion, doing anything to soothe him, to ease a pain there is no cure for. 

He spies the book on a sweeping glance of the room. Without thinking, he lifts one arm and gropes for it, knocking odds and ends away as he does. But he reaches it, cracks open the first page of The Once and Future King, and starts to read. 

As his voice begins, rough and full of his own sadness, Felix stills. His sobs then increase for a second, and Sylvain pauses, wondering if he’s actually done the right thing, but after two pages, Felix starts to calm. The hiccups cease while the tears still flow, and he adjusts more so he’s curled into Sylvain rather than gripping on for dear life. 

As he does, he moves his hand, and Sylvain’s voice trips as Felix winds their little fingers together. He takes a deep breath then continues reading, squeezing back with all his might. 

_ We’ll always be together.  _

He reads until he’s sure Felix is asleep, and keeps holding him close, pressing his cheek into Felix’s hair, even after he puts the book down and silently lets his own tears fall. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (I am never, ever killing Glenn in a modern AU again, that hurt to write)
> 
> Next chapter coming soon!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He stills, Ingrid too as her breath audibly catches. For Sylvain’s mark has grown. It’s stretching up the whole of his arm, beginning at the tip of his wrist. He pushes up his sleeve, the line simply reaching upwards, the mark extending into probably his upper torso he assumes from it’s positioning. 
> 
> “Looks like they’re worried about you too,” Ingrid says almost reverently, tracing his mark with the tip of her finger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading and supporting this story! It means a lot. We're at the half way point, honestly can't believe how many words this story is turning out to be. 
> 
> Audrey, my fantastic beta, thank you so much for all your help with this chapter! 
> 
> Hope you enjoy.

The funeral is one of the worst days of Sylvain’s life. He’s never been to a funeral before, knows he’s lucky to have been spared this until the age of seventeen. But even without the experience, he knows this one is particularly devastating. 

Glenn was young. Too young to die so abruptly, and loved fiercely by so many. The sea of mourners at the ceremony is a testimony to this, and Sylvain himself can barely comprehend this is the world they exist in now. Glenn has been a fixture of his life for as long as he’s known Felix; the strangeness and unfairness of it all has been swirling around in his mind for weeks. 

He stands next to Dimitri, who simply stares ahead, unblinking as the ceremony goes on. Ingrid, on Dimitri’s other side, gets steadily and steadily worse as time ticks by, to the point where Sylvain literally grabs Dimitri and pushes him out of the way to wrap his arms around her. She falls apart, crying silently against his chest, as Dimitri blinks at the two of them, still in some sort of haze. 

Felix stands with Rodrigue, an obvious distance between them. It’s the first time Sylvain has seen him since he’d woken up that morning after discovering the news. Sylvain’s father had called him repeatedly to come home, so Rodrigue had carefully come to extract him from sleeping Felix. He’d been much kinder than the night before, and Sylvain has reluctantly left without waking Felix, driving home on a journey he doesn’t fully recall. 

He sent a few messages afterward, but Felix didn’t respond. He understands though, or he does in principle. He won’t pretend he understands how this feels, he never will. But as long as Felix knows he’s there for whatever he needs, then that’s what matters. 

The wake is at the Fraldarius house. Sylvain and Ingrid manage to travel together with Ingrid’s father, and he holds her hand the entire time. Once they arrive, Sylvain leads her to the quietest set of chairs he can find, and she sighs before resting her head on his shoulder. He tilts his head to rest of hers, closing his eyes for a second. 

“I can’t believe he’s gone. It doesn’t seem real,” she says, voice quivering. Sylvain nods. 

“I know,” he says, unable to add anything more to the sentiment. 

“I have books of his he let me borrow. I’ll never be able to give them back, and I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to read them again,” she says. 

Sylvain rubs her arm, understands the sentiment. There are so many things he too will now always associate with Glenn; cinnamon cookies he’d bring them while they were playing, the way he’d shown Sylvain basic German (including curses) to impress a date a few months ago, the presents he’d given Sylvain on many birthdays...there’s too much. 

“I really want to talk to Felix, but I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” Sylvain confesses, and he feels Ingrid nod. 

“Me too. I haven’t spoken to him since it happened. I can’t even imagine…” she trails off, and Sylvain stays silent, for there is no power of this earth which could compel him to tell her of the day he and Felix found out. 

She shifts beneath him, and he sits up, only to frown when she pulls up her sleeve. Ingrid lets out a quiet, wet laugh at the soulmark which stands out clearly on her arm. 

“Glenn wasn’t my soulmate. I don’t know if it makes this worse or better. The mark has been there since I found out he died, the longest it’s ever stayed. It’s like they know how much this all hurts,” she says bitterly. 

Sylvain is so in the habit now of ignoring his mark, he doesn’t recall if it’s there or not. But he’s compelled to see, so unbutton his cuff and pulls it back. 

He stills, Ingrid too as her breath audibly catches. For Sylvain’s mark has grown. It’s stretching up the whole of his arm, beginning at the tip of his wrist. He pushes up his sleeve, the line simply reaching upwards, the mark extending into probably his upper torso he assumes from it’s positioning. 

“Looks like they’re worried about you too,” Ingrid says almost reverently, tracing his mark with the tip of her finger. 

He nods mechanically, in awe that their connection could produce evidence so great of what’s happening in his, or even their minds. It’s a little eerie, for although he knows these things are perfectly natural, his mark has never done this, and for it to stretch so vast and strangely…

He rolls down his sleeve quickly and shakes his head. Now feels like a bad time to be contemplating his soulmate. 

They are prevented from saying anything further on the matter as Dimitri suddenly wanders over, looking apprehensive, carrying two mugs. A peace offering if Sylvain’s even seen one, and he offers his friend an encouraging smile, who sags in relief. Ingrid stands, as he approaches, and he gives each of them a mug which turns out to be tea. 

“I am...I am so sorry for my behaviour earlier. I just...it is hard,” he says, and Ingrid shakes her head, before putting down the tea on her abandoned chair and folding him into a hug. 

“I know, it’s fine,” she says, as Dimitri squeezes her so tightly her breath catches. He realises her swiftly, and Sylvain just about has enough time to put down his own mug before he too is engulfed. 

Dimitri is trembling slightly, and worry courses through him. Dimitri isn’t handling this well, they all aren’t but it’s another mark in Sylvain’s collection of concerns about Dimitri. He’s spacing out more, and he thinks by the way he’s been standing stiffly by his father’s side, there is something happening at home. He makes a mental note to try and see if he can do anything. The thought of two of his friends suffering is too much. 

For he’s not sure there is anything he can do for Felix. He wants to, wonders how he can extend that offer of comfort he gave on that fateful day. If Felix wanted to curl up in his arms again, he’d gladly hold hi-

Sylvain blinks. That’s not...that’s not what he meant. 

He is saved from the blur of his thoughts by their families each collecting them, which seems bizarre as they are all teenagers, Sylvain only a year away from leaving home. But he notices as the wake progresses how all the adults seem to be keeping their children close, a memory of the fact that death is merciless when it comes to age or experience. 

Sylvain bears with it, thankful all their parents are friends so they stay relatively in each other's orbit. He grips hands, arms, and is collected into half hugs by both Ingrid and Dimitri for the next few hours until they finally get a chance to speak with Felix. 

Dimitri gets there first, which sends a hot flare of unfounded annoyance, as Rodrigue firstly moves to speak to Lambert. Dimitri tries for the hug, but Felix side steps it with a glare, and it’s a clearly awkward moment as Ingrid and Sylvain join them. 

No one knows what to say, and Felix can barely meet their eyes. Sylvain’s heart almost breaks just looking at him; he doesn’t know the word beyond exhausted but Felix is embodying it. He looks gaunt, as if he’s not eating or sleeping, and Sylvain can feel the tension in his body from feet away.

Ingrid though, takes the plunge. Even though Dimitri’s hug was waved off, she manages to capture Felix’s hand. He looks for a second as if he may pull away but then he seems to sag into the contact, and Sylvain swoops forward to put his arm around Felix’s shoulders. Dimitri takes his other hand and this time Felix doesn’t protest, the group all clinging together with Felix between them. Sylvain genuinely feels by the way Felix is shaking that they are literally holding him together, and pulls him a little closer with the thought. 

And the fact that he’s letting them, speaks volumes. 

“Felix, I’m so sorr-” Dimitri begins but Felix tenses under Sylvain’s arm. 

“Spare me, I’ve heard the sorrys for weeks,” he hisses, and Sylvain closes his eyes briefly, the raw pain pouring out of him hitting them all. Dimitri flinches but doesn’t let go of him, and Sylvain considers just pushing them both off so he can hold Felix close again, like he knows he responds to. 

“I get that there’s nothing we can say to make this better, but we are here for you. That’s all,” Ingrid says, and Dimitri nods readily. 

Sylvain doesn’t bother with words, but runs his thumb along Felix’s shoulder, the only part he can reach. He hopes it’s soothing rather than annoying, but Felix so far hasn’t thrown him off, so it might be working.

“Felix, we need to speak to your uncle,” Rodrigue calls, and Felix shudders, before shrugging all of them off. As soon as he’s gone, Sylvain draws the other two back to him, both Dimitri and Ingrid folding inwards at the loss of their friend. 

Eventually, it ends. Or at least, it does for Sylvain with his father speaking to Rodrigue in low tones while Sylvain hovers by the doorway. Ingrid left a few minutes ago, but Sylvain is sure Dimitri will stay a while longer with how close Lambert and Rodrigue are. Sylvain feels guilty that he’s desperate to leave, but he can’t handle this for much longer, doesn’t know how Felix is coping under the weight of it all, a million times more than what Sylvain is carrying.

“You’re leaving.” 

Felix’s voice floats from his left, and he startles, so absorbed in his own mind he hadn’t heard him. 

“Y-eah. Unless you want me to stay?” he says, and Felix scoffs in reply. 

It’s not actually no, and Sylvain frowns, wondering what he should do, when without warning, Felix hugs him. It’s light and careful, but Sylvain responds quickly, arms around him in an instant and pulls him close. Felix barely allows it though, for he pulls back after barely a second, nods without meeting his eyes, and leaves. 

Sylvain swallows against burning bile, but a part of him lifts. Perhaps, although it will be hard, they’ll get there. In time, things will get better. 

* * *

Things do not get better. It all, in fact, gets so much worse. 

Felix withdraws almost completely from their group. They speak occasionally, and he doesn’t outright ignore Sylvian, but he refuses lifts to and from school, and he stops coming to their weekend meetups. Ingrid also starts being unable to come so often, making what Sylvain knows are excuses, but she doesn’t appear to be able to talk about whatever is happening. Dimitri is the person who he sees most often, the two of them still making the time to see each other outside of school. But he’s also different, fading in and out, strangely vicious in rugby practice. 

Sylvain wants to talk to all of them, work out what’s happening and how he can help. Almost ten years of a pattern unravels before Sylvain’s eyes, and he keeps trying to hold onto the fraying threads of their friendships, but school prevents him. 

He has university applications, essays to write, and pressure from so many sides his temples constantly ache. Sylvain is predicted excellent grades, with essentially his pick of universities, except there is no reality in which he would be permitted such a luxury. 

“Your grades are on track for Kingdom University. The finance management course is still the best, I checked the acceptance rates and staff who will be teaching next year. You’ll have an exam once the application is accepted, but it won’t be anything you haven’t seen before,” his father comments, and dutifully, Sylvian puts it down as one of his options. 

He has to add in multiple universities, but his father doesn’t care what he picks. Considering the first one will involve an entrance exam, Sylvain is aiming for a simple second option of just an application form. It’s as he’s submitting his application in a free period, that his Lit teacher asks to speak to him. 

“I know you are already applying for Kingdom. But there is something I want you to consider,” she says, and hands over a crisp brochure. His eyes widen as he sees the cover. 

“Gareg Mach? They don’t have a finance course,” he says. 

She looks back and he can see the sadness in her eyes. She reaches forward, takes back the brochure, flicking through it until it opens on the Literature degrees. As she hands it back, he realises his hands are shaking.

“You already know it’s one of the top universities in the country, but their Literature course is the number one, has been for years. Sylvain, you are the best student in my year. Not only that, but your work is engaging and full of passion, something I rarely see at this level. You’d like Gareg Mach, it’s not your usual type of school and I think you’d thrive in that working environment. You have almost all the requirements and we can write recommendations to support you if you decide to apply. Personally, I think you’ll make it in.”

He doesn’t truly recall the rest of the day, or even how he left that conversation. It’s an impossible ideal; his whole life is set, has been for so long and he has been almost entirely powerless to change it. He doesn’t have another arts subject, his application will probably be lost among those far more tailored for such a prestigious school. 

And yet, he wants it. The seeds of the idea are already taking shape, criticism on narrative and symbolism opening up wider doors than the drone of becoming a clone of his father’s making. It’s the first time in so achingly long he’s seen potential in any future, been excited about the prospect of himself. 

But it burns out swiftly. After all, it’s just a pipe dream. It’s nothing like taking an extra subject or going to parties or kissing a boy in secret. It’s a full out rejection of the path set out for him and Sylvain doesn’t know how to do that. He’s spent too much time artificial that by now, it may as well be his true self. 

So he pushes it back down, yet he doesn’t finalise his university application. There is a deadline but he has a while; so for now he puts everything on hold. 

Mercie though, manages to get it out of him. She grins brightly over a lunchtime study session, eyes alight with excitement. 

“I’m applying! Oh, it would be amazing if we went to the same place, I’d love a friend when it’s so far from home,” she says, twisting another shard deep inside him. 

“Maybe. I’ll think about it,” he says, expecting it to be the end of that conversation, but she stares at him seriously. 

“You lose nothing by trying, Sylvain. And it’s what you want, I can see it. I believe in you,” she says, squeezing his arm. He has to almost stop himself from crying in the middle of the library; it’s ridiculous that she’s the only person in his life to ever have said that to him. 

He still isn’t sure though, and loses time and sense in playing sports and spending time with his team. It ensures he’s still fairly close to Dimitri, but that’s a different level of struggle. 

Dimitri adored Glenn, almost on the same level as Felix, a surrogate older brother seeing as he spent so much time there in the last few years with his father being away so often. But that leaves him in a void of mourning a brother that was not truly his, which Felix takes issue with. 

“I think he hates me,” Dimitri says as they walk back from town one afternoon, a tone of worry in his voice. 

“He doesn’t,” Sylvain says with conviction he knows to be true. 

But Dimitri shakes his head. “You don’t see it now, he hates being in a room with me, or with Uncle Rodrigue. They argue a lot,” he says, worrying his lip. 

Sylvain thinks back to the day Glenn died, the way Rodrigue left Felix to him while he dealt with death in his own, clinical way. During the funeral Rodrigue had spoken of his ‘honorable death’ at trying to avoid someone crossing without looking, seeing Felix almost throw up at the notion. He’s been around them both enough growing up to know they do clash, and are often at odds with Glenn in the middle. Except there is no middle and when Felix needed a dad, he wasn’t there. 

He understands it, but it must be hard to watch, especially when Dimitri has no escape. 

“Give it time, it’s hard on both of them. On all of us,” he amends and slings an arm around him as they walk together, Dimitri sighing and nodding. 

“How did you do all these exams?” Dimitri says suddenly, changing tact. 

Sylvain shrugs because honestly, he doesn’t know how he managed to hold such a variety of information in his head two years ago. It’s certainly worse now, but at least it’s contained into a few, mostly similar subjects than anything from French to fractions. 

“Not sure, man. Just did. It’s over soon,” he says, but Dimitri doesn’t look the least bit comforted. 

“I don’t think I can do it,” he says, softly, and Sylvain stops in the street, turning him by his shoulders. He’s still taller than Dimitri, but he’s shot up in the last few months, awkwardly unused to his height in everything he does. But right now he reminds Sylvain of the Dimitri who broke everything he got his hands on, antique swords and train sets alike. 

“Don’t panic, it’s going to be fine,” he tries, but Dimitri pulls away roughly. 

“Easy for you to say. You slack off, act like an idiot and still get everything you want. It’s so annoying being around you.” 

Sylvain blinks, hand still outstretched towards Dimitri. His friend scowls and turns on his heel, stalking away before Sylvain can do or say anything. 

It hurts. Dimitri could have stabbed him through the chest and it would have hurt less. He waits for a second, hoping that like most of their arguments, Dimitri will come back, apologies and look embarrassed that it came to this. But he doesn’t. So Sylvain walks home, sending a photo of a cat which crosses his path to Felix. 

Felix reads it, but doesn’t reply. The hole in Sylvains’ chest widens. 

* * *

He meets Alissa at a party. 

She’s interesting, has a smile that rocks something inside him in just the right way, and she responds perfectly to his lines and sentiments. She gives back though, which makes the difference. She has a retort, a counter to everything and even lines of her own. She knows who he is, sees the spark alight at the name ‘Gautier’ but doesn’t demand anything. It makes her that little bit different, enough to see her more than just to make out at 3am after too much vodka. 

They go on dates, and while it’s genuinely fun it doesn’t feel how Sylvain imagines and anticipates falling for another does. There’s nervous anticipation, delight and exhilaration. They kiss and it lights sparks in his spine but not in his mind, doesn’t carve pathways for the future. 

But it’s attraction, that’s for sure. So when she invites him back to her room when her parents are out, he doesn’t say no. For this part he wants, this part has intrigue and worry as their kisses turn desperate and heat floods his system. 

It’s good. The touches, the taste of skin, the feel of her body against his, lost in the fumble and feel of one another. It’s clumsy, really messy but in that good, new way he likes, and they both laugh into each other’s mouths as they figure out a rhythm that isn’t quite right, but is just what’s needed in the moment. 

It is also anticlimactic, he thinks as they kiss deeply by his car before he leaves. He can still smell her on his skin, feels a hum that wasn’t there before but it’s also...nothing. The earth keeps on spinning, he’s still fighting for the surface under pressures of duty and slowly losing his closest friends. Sex didn’t change that, didn’t change him. But it is an intoxication that has him chasing the next opportunity to see Alissa. 

They aren’t a couple and neither of them want it. It’s the thrill they are addicted to, and they slowly learn each others’ bodies and needs, hushed gasps becoming moans and words as they find exactly what they want with each other. 

“Oh,” she says one afternoon when Sylvain shrugs off his shirt, skipping math class for sex, which is definitely the better deal. 

He frowns, that catches the flash of his soulmark on his arm. She sits up, staring at him, expression unreadable, then says: 

“I’m not your soulmate,” in a tone that broaches no argument. 

_ I know _ , he thinks, _ as I wouldn’t be like this if you were _ , but instead winks and moves to hover over her. 

“Are you sure about that? Don’t you want to be?” 

She laughs against his mouth and the thoughts dissolves into kisses and bites, but it resurfaces late at night when Sylvain is trying to sleep. She isn’t his soulmate, his girlfriend or even his friend. She’s nice, and they have a good time, even if it’s mostly in bed or his car. But it’s fine, because that’s what they both want. 

So why does he feel like it’s not actually what he wants?

Once that thought is in his head, even if he can’t explain it fully, it makes things harder. They mutually decide it’s not worth it after a few weeks, and the next few times they see each other, it’s fine if still somewhat charged with midnight memories. 

But when he tries again, it goes wrong. For Kate actually wanted more, even if Sylvain thought he was being clear when they first went out exactly what would happen. 

“But what if I’m your soulmate?” she says through tears, and he feels sick for hours afterwards. 

_ Of course. Why else would they want you? _ His mind asks, and to be fair the voice is right. What can Sylvain offer apart from money, a soulmark, and if the rumours that buzz around are to be believed, a roll in the sheets like no other?

He isn’t the first of his friends to have sex, but he is the first to have it outside of a relationships, so despite the fact he’s had less sex than others, he’s the one with the reputation. Which he doesn’t mind, really. Doesn’t care what they say or how certain people look at him. They don’t know him, don’t know the truth and do not want to. He goes on a few more dates but as school work piles up and university application deadline looms, he doesn’t have the time. But his adventures with two women, which aren’t really that adventurous, bring a reputation with them. 

“Control yourself, act like a Gautier for god's sake,” his father snaps and Sylvain wants to scream back that he’d do anything he could to stop being one. That all of this, everything he cultivates is a way to stop being what he is for five minutes. But he doesn’t, of course he doesn’t. 

His feelings about his soulmate are murkier than ever. The mark has gone back to normal, making those few hours at Glenn’s funeral that only time it’s ever really changed. He feels pathetic when it turns up, moreso for the way it lights up his chest with hope despite everything else that’s happening around him. 

He hopes, in a way, they never meet. He can’t see his life shaping up to anything impressive, just being a coward who hides in his father’s shadow. A person who has lied his way to his best friends hating him, who cannot even remember the last time he truly enjoyed anything. What would he even do if this person walked into his life tomorrow? Probably beg their forgiveness for his existence. 

He can’t sleep. It’s been off and on for a while, but he lies there, night after night, contemplating anything that will change it. A faint vibration of worry accompanies him to every test, every question by his father, every match with his team. Expectations, duties, persona, and he’s so tired of balancing all of them but his mind will not shut down. 

He decides then, that if he cannot rest he’ll do something. After Dimitri yelled at him, he isn’t sure how to approach his friend; that isn’t his normal behaviour, not the Dimitri he knows and although part of him is longing to try, another part is too scared to get it wrong by just being himself. Again. 

Felix is so far away. And Sylvain doesn’t think his head is screwed on tightly enough to get ready to just cross that gap. He’s going to, he knows that like his own name. He will always go after Felix, in every setting, no matter how far they are. He just needs a plan and to be able to give it his all. Felix deserves everything and Sylvain wants to give it. He just does not have the capacity to do that. 

So, he’ll start with Ingrid. Ingrid who avoids everyone, won’t leave her house except for school and then seems to always be just that little bit ahead of him when he tries to catch her. She answers messages but always politely declines to do anything. So, first step: he needs to get her out of her house. Or at least, willing to have some company. 

Seeing as actually asking her doesn’t work, he’ll have to try something more drastic. Which, with mind tiptoeing along an edge he doesn’t want to think about too hard, ends with him sending a slightly tipsy message at 4am after a party threatening to drive all the way to her place at 100 miles per hour with her favourite food so she’ll see him. 

She frantically calls him, tells him to not under any circumstances drive right now and promises to see him in the morning. Not his best moment, but it worked. 

He also reads the messages before that one and winces. The few before he sobered up slightly are...not exactly what he’d want to Ingrid to hear. Mostly cursing his father, and a few that are rambling about Felix in a way which isn’t ready to think of right now, not when Felix is so distant. 

Ingrid first. Then other things can follow. So he drives carefully to her place having downed an energy drink to stave off the hangover, ready to do whatever it takes to have her speaking to him again. 

She throws open the door and strides out as he opens the car door, arms crossed and hair askew. She looks tired; they all look tired and he thinks they are all far too young to bear so many sleepless nights in their eyes. 

“You didn’t drive last night, did you?” she demands, wind whipping a strand of hair into her face. It’s long, so long he can barely remember the fact he helped her cut it all off a few years ago. 

“Nope, I slept on the floor like a good teenager. Please tell me you have coffee,” he begs and she manages a relieved laugh before inviting him inside. 

Comfort washes over at the familiar setting. Ingrid makes coffee just how he likes it, and her own as well. Her laptop and textbooks are out, a familiar revision guide propped up on the table. She offers him a tentative smile as they sit down. 

Sylvain waits. Lets her take a second, breaths in the smell of coffee and basks in the first step forward of being here with her. She exhales, and he meets her eyes. 

“I’m sorry. I know I’ve not been myself. And I’ve not been a great friend to anyone really,” she says, idly swirling her finger over the rim of her cup. Sylvain reaches out and grabs her hand, ceasing the movement. 

“You don’t have to be sorry,” he says, and she squeezes his hand back. She shakes her head but doesn’t say anything else for a moment. 

“I keep thinking about Glenn, keep wanting to ask him to help me with my final project for art class, and then remembering he’s gone. And Felix won’t speak to me, at all,” she swallows and her breathing shakes a little. 

Sylvain frowns, for he knows her enough to see when there is something else coming along, and the second squeeze of his hand confirms it. 

“There’s also something else. I didn’t know how to say it before but, here we go. I’m moving. Quite far away, actually,” she says, hand shaking a little in his. 

Sylvain feels as if he’s in a sudden bubble of reality, pulled out of the world and separated by on every side. The world mutes, focuses down to that one fact, a shard of his heart being forcefully removed in that second. 

“When?” he asks, voice sounding cracked and quiet, like it severed itself trying to exist. 

Ingrid’s shoulders shake. “In July. M-my father lost his job. He has another but it’s far away. We can’t afford to stay here, or the tuition fees so I need to change schools for sixth form. I found out a week ago and I haven’t told anyone.” 

Sylvain snaps himself back to reality as she starts to shake all over, and stands up, still gripping her hand. Ingrid stands to meet him though, pulling him down to her level and hugging him so tightly any air in his lungs is squeezed free. 

Sylvain’s eyes water and he screws them shut, but it doesn’t help. The tears fall regardless, and he finds himself swaying with her as they both cry silently into one another. It takes a while to calm down, both of them people who need space to control emotion, rather than sharing. 

He pulls back and wipes his own eyes, Ingrid smiling up at him though tears catch on her lashes. 

“I’m gonna miss you so much. But you’ll be at Kingdom, so I’ll have missed you anyway,” she says with a hollow laugh. 

Sylvain feels a strange pressure at the back of his head and nods automatically. Ingrid hugs him again, fierce and strong, and he starts memorising the feel of these moments, for they will not be so freely given anymore. 

They try for lightness for the rest of the day and it sort of works. There is a shadow in the backdrop, the looming clock ticking down to Ingrid’s departure, but they strive forward. And it is good, it’s so beyond good to spend time with her after this distance and the constant battles the world throws at them. 

“I promise I’ll be better at talking. I’m going to try and tell the other two. If I can get them to talk. Dimitri and Felix had a huge argument last week,  _ in class _ . I don’t know what’s going on there,” she admits as Sylvain gets ready to go home. 

He shakes his head, unable to answer her. He doesn’t know either, cannot explain why they are all starting to break apart, snap and crumble when they’d always been each other’s constants. And now Ingrid is actually severing completely, something he’d always assumed would never happen. He can’t explain why; despite being older, they all ended up in the same school and although they all have different aims and goals, he’d just imagined they’d orbit back, never truly breaking away, especially with the constant of their childhood homes. 

But nothing is constant. Glenn is dead, Ingrid is leaving, Dimitri is angry with all of them and Felix grieving himself into isolation. Nothing is as it should be. 

And Sylvain is just meandering. He’s still acting as if it’s all going to be fine, that it’s not burning down before his eyes and leaving him in the ashes. It’s that thought, the realisation of the day that he’s losing a constant of Ingrid that makes him open his laptop as soon as he gets home. He works until 1am, then skips his first period class to speak to his English teacher. 

By 11am, he has a fully edited application and letters of recommendation sent to Garreg Mach. 

* * *

He and Ingrid become strangely inseparable in their scant free time. It’s as if they can feel the minutes and seconds counting down to the biggest change of their lives, and their clinging on to normalcy as hard as they can. 

Sylvain tries with Dimitri. He drops out of the rugby team, and doesn’t ever seem to be in the common room at breaks. The few times Sylvain’s managed to corner him he receives clipped replies, formal and strained. Dimitri looks ill, exhausted to the bone and he’s missing a lot of school. He does apologize for the last time they spoke, but despite Sylvain’s wishes it seems to have created a barrier between them. Sylvain is hurt yet can’t say that and Dimitri can’t seem to express what he’s feeling. Ingrid has the same amount of luck he does. 

“He talks more to Felix, and even then it doesn’t look particularly comfortable. Lambert’s away a lot for work, and Dimitri stays with Felix and Rodrigue. That’s all I know. I still haven’t told either of them, I can’t bring myself to,” she says quietly as they watch Dimitri walk away after a painful attempt at conversation. 

Sylvain grips his arm unconsciously and nods. His mark isn’t here today; he’s still not seen it since the funeral, and he’s not sure what that means. He can barely understand his own head nowadays, his connection with someone else feels impossible. But it’s familiar, the only part of him that feels steady. This person who has been joined with him his whole life, who was there on one of the worst days he’s ever lived through. 

He finds himself holding where the mark should be and thinking of them more often lately. He reads trashy novels he finds in the back of the library, and imagines such romance could really exist, these soulmates bound through time and circumstance, loving without knowing. 

Perhaps it’s wishful thinking. Sylvain kisses more people at parties and still doesn’t feel his veins igniting, that world changing realisation that comes with true love. His heart may as well not beat, for it’s just escapism: they want him for what he might be, he wants them for what they can give in that moment. A few hours to forget and just hone on sensation. 

He knows it isn’t healthy, it isn’t normal. But it hurts less than most hours of the day, and that in the moment, is what matters. He doesn’t care that he has a reputation, doesn’t care that in the light of day it sours and curdles. He can’t make any of this right so why not get some temporary relief? 

He’s almost certain that, if by some miracle he ever finds his soulmate, they’ll never want him. So it doesn’t matter. So very little seems to matter anymore. 

But he goes through the motions anyway, and that includes waiting to hear back from university applications. He takes his entry test to Kingdom, and they reply fairly quickly; he’s accepted assuming he gets marks that he thinks he could in his sleep. Fine. Garreg March however stays silent; no instant decline, no rushing acceptance and Sylvain is for once nervous. He hasn’t told Ingrid, for despite their newfound closeness, it’s something that he isn’t quite ready to explain or tell. He’s not worried about his father finding out, knows she can be trusted. But he is worried he’ll be rejected and have to explain that. It’s not something he’s used to. 

He does tell Mercie, so he has someone to fret with. That is until they both receive news at the same time: they have interviews. 

“I wasn’t expecting this,” she says as she stares at the paper, with instructions on the interview protocol, date and time. Their interviews are on the same day, which makes things easier as Sylvain can drive them. It involved missing school and lying to his father, but both of these he had little qualms with. 

So it’s another spinning plate to his already full lot, and thankfully the school didn’t contact his father regarding the interview. He does however, leave his math class the day before to find Felix leaning against the wall. Sylvain does a double take, looking over his shoulder, wondering for a split second if he’s here to see someone else, or even their teacher. 

But Mercie gives him a push as she comes out behind him. 

“Go talk to him, he came here,” she says softly. 

He turns, and she gives him a nod, one that speaks of more meaning than simple words and Sylvain files away the need to ask her on their way to the interview what she means. But for now he strides over to Felix with practiced ease, covering any nervousness and curiosity with his usual mask. 

“Hey Felix, long time no see,” he says with a grin. 

Felix gives Sylvian a flat stare at the cheery tone, but Sylvain thinks he can see a hint of a smile. He’ll take what he can get anyway. 

“I’m going to history. It’s on the way to your English class,” he says, then starts walking without looking back. 

Sylvain blinks, wondering how Felix knows his schedule, then bypassing that thought, almost runs to catch up with him, weaving his way around classmates to do so. They fall in step, and Sylvain grins down, Felix’s eyes catching his. 

“How are you?” he says, which he then cringes at slightly for it comes out in a sort of desperate fashion and it’s not something Felix can really answer here. His brother died less than half a year ago, it’s obvious how he probably is. But Sylvain wants to truly know, drill down to the bones of it all and actually understand what Felix is feeling and if he can do anything. But that cannot be asked or answered right now. 

“I’m busy mostly. Fine. I have mock exams next week,” he answers and it’s honestly more than Sylvain is expecting. 

“Oh yeah, those suck. I’m sure you’ll do fine though,” he says. 

“Will I? Do you know what subjects I’m taking?” Felix replies, suddenly stopping and staring up at Sylvain with challenge in his clenched posture. 

Sylvain reels internally, not expecting this. He hasn’t discussed classes with Felix that’s true. But he knows him, so sighs, hand going to his hair. 

“No, I don’t. But I’m going to assume history, French, German and art,” he says. 

There’s a thick silence, neither of them looking at one another. Then Sylvain sees out of the corner of his eyes, Felix inhales deeply. 

“I’m sorry. That was...that was uncalled for. And not what I wanted to say,” he says. 

Sylvain lifts his eyes and puts on his best smile, shaking his head. 

“It’s no problem, what did you want to say?” he says. 

Felix’s face falls, and his eyes bore into Sylvain and for a moment, he thinks Felix is about to reject his mask, say that obvious and rip away the facade. But instead the bell rings and both of them jump. 

“This was stupid...can you meet me tomorrow after school?” Felix says, although the first part is said so quietly that Sylvain almost doesn’t catch it. 

He’s about to agree when the spiking of his nerves reminds him tomorrow he will not be in school. 

“I can’t, I have a university interview,” he says. 

Felix looks at him and crosses his arms. “Kingdom doesn’t interview,” he says, judgement clear. 

“It’s not for Kingdom.” 

The words are out without thought. There’s no worry like there was with Ingrid, no question of him making up a story of where he’ll be or why. It’s just truth, and he feels no regret or concern, no worry that eventually he’ll now need to explain to Felix where he’s applied to or why. If anything, he feels calm, feels at ease that he said it aloud and has a story to tell someone he cares about. 

Felix is clearly thrown by this information, but neither have time to expand for the corridors are almost empty. 

“Okay. I’ll message you,” he says with a nod, then marches off quickly to the left. 

Sylvain is almost about to sprint to his class, when he pauses. 

“Felix!” he yells, thankful hardly anyone is around. 

His friend turns and glares back. 

“Did I get your classes right?” he calls. 

Felix tilts his head, and then nods just once, before crossing the hall and opening his classroom door. Sylvain in turn runs to English, a spring in his step. For even at that distance, he’d seen the smile on Felix’s face. 

* * *

Garreg Mach is not what he expects. They set off early, it being an incredible distance from home and Sylvain knows as they make their way through the traffic, that if he does get in, he won’t be visiting home that often. Kingdom is less than an hour away, but this takes them almost three and a half, the roads on the last hour all country lanes and half empty. 

It’s beautiful. Incredibly so, one of the oldest institutions in the country and Sylvain can practically feel the history with every step. The two have consumed so much sugar on the drive and he’s vibrating from the high, his nerves and the sheer amazement of the place. 

He can see himself here. He can imagine walking these corridors, sitting in the grounds and eating in the dining hall. And that has him far more concerned than anything else. But he pushes it down, enjoys the tour and the peek into one of the English lectures, amazed at the information pouring into the room from the ten minutes he gets to stay. He can sense himself opening up, stretching and reaching for knowledge, for understanding. 

For freedom. 

But it doesn’t last, and soon he is waiting outside an office, leg bouncing uncontrollably as he waits for his name to be called. When it does he still starts, even though he’s been repeating the cadence of his own name in his mind for the past ten minutes. 

The interviewer is a man named Seteth, who sternly drills down into Sylvain’s grades, his plans, and asks him several questions regarding his application essay. Of course, his diversion to a different university course is one of his first questions, but he’s prepared that with his teachers so it trips off his tongue perfectly, the only answer he is fully confident in. It’s thirty minutes and by the close Sylvain’s brain is fried, the experience far more intense than anything he’s had to do in his life. 

“One final question,” Sylvain braces himself, charming smile almost flickering as Seteth looks towards the clock and back down at the paper before him.

“If you had to pick one piece of literature to read for the rest of your life, what would it be?” 

Sylvain considers, for it feels less formal than the rest of the questions. Seteth nods to his silence though, clearly reading the expression. 

“A personal question of my own. It’s always good to see where potential student's favourites lie,” he says with an air of nonchalance that Sylvain knows is not real. 

He has many options: classics, novels he’s studied, books on the syllabus or by alumni. But all he thinks about, in this moment, is Felix’s smile and the truth trips out of him. 

“The Once and Future King.” 

“Why?” Seteth counters without blinking. 

“Because it’s the first book I remember wanting to be real. It’s the first book I ever read to another person. Because I’m never bored when I read it, never sad when I follow their adventures. It reminds me of home even though I don’t think I know how that’s possible as it’s the exact opposite of what my home is. And...and because my copy was gifted by my favourite person, and bought by someone who isn’t here anymore. So when I read it, it’s a remembrance of things I love.” 

Seteth watches him finish speaking, pen not flicking across the paper for the first time. He acknowledges Sylvain for a moment longer, then nods his head. 

“Thank you, Sylvain. It’s been a pleasure to meet you,” he says, standing and offering his hand, Sylvain shakily climbing to his feet and vaguely making his way through the usual send off routine. 

Once outside, he has to sit down, legs almost collapsing under him. It takes him a while to stop shaking. As he waits, a message vibrates on his phone in the depths of his pocket, a welcome distraction. His thumb hovers over the screen where the name ‘Felix’ with the cat emoji sits. He doesn’t even need to unlock it to read the two words. 

_ Good luck. _

It doesn’t stop the shaking, or the nerves colliding in his system. But it does make everything lighter for just one moment, and a smile trying to curve it’s way into existence. And he wonders if Felix has been thinking of him today, while he’s been thinking of Felix in return for the most important interview of his life so far. 

And that is enough to get him standing once more.    
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More coming soon, and remember you can always find me on [Twitter](http://www.twitter.com/EnlacingL/)


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “They’re thinking of you,” he remarks when she’s done. Mercedes looks down and smiles. 
> 
> “Probably wondering why I’m up so late. Don’t give me that face, it took us a long time to walk here,” she says, and Sylvain laughs, only halting when his lip smarts. 
> 
> “Looks like they’re thinking of you too,” she says, and sure enough it’s there, at the edge of his sleeve. 
> 
> All at once his mood falls, dips down to the lows it’s almost constantly at. 
> 
> “They shouldn’t. They should forget I exist,” he says, not able to look at her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for reading and supporting this story! It means a lot, I love writing this so it's always so wonderful to hear you enjoy reading. 
> 
> Thank you to the wonderful Audrey for betaing, you are fantastic. 
> 
> Warnings for a description of a panic attack in this chapter. 
> 
> Enjoy the update!

He doesn’t actually manage to arrange seeing Felix in the weeks that come, time swift as sand slipping through his fingers. They talk a little more though, exchanging nonsense messages that have Sylvain staring at his phone impatiently for hours thinking of or waiting for replies. It’s not the same as it was; as if that moment at school was a restart, a flicker of potential, but neither quite know how to fully grasp the opportunity to gain the momentum their friendship once had. But he can clearly feel a small change, enough to occupy his thoughts. Sylvain finds himself wondering what Felix was going to say whenever his mind wanders, which is often now, as he finds himself daydreaming frequently. 

His father has been giving him extra lessons he didn’t ask for on the weekends, demanding more of his attention span, and taking time away from the mountains of work school is piling on his head. 

“You’ll need this in your first year of university. You need to memorise it, Sylvain,” he demands when Sylvain fails to get every question correct, his hands shaking where he holds the pen. 

“Can I just focus on passing my exams first? I haven’t even got into Kingdom yet,” he says, knowing if he’s asked to do this again, he just won’t. He actually cannot sit here any longer, cannot spend another second looking at this work which just won’t fit into his head. 

“You will go to Kingdom, Sylvain. And I have an idea of who your soulmate is, she will be attending the same course as you. So you’ll learn this, perfectly, this afternoon,” he states, each world ringing in Sylvain’s mind. 

He almost refuses. Almost walks out of the door. He clenches his fists, legs working but-

He stays. And memorises the work perfectly, just as he’s expected to. For where would he go? He decides it’s worth struggling through this pain, rather than spending the next few days dealing with the aftermath of defying his father over something he can force himself to endure. He spends the rest of the afternoon in his room, trying to control his heightened breathing as he stares at the ceiling, but he thinks he’s made the right choice. 

The mention of his soulmate though, causes his gut to curl. It’s brought up again over the next few weeks. His father mentions her name a few times, although it won’t stick in Sylvain’s’ mind, and has already planned their family will be invited for the Christmas vacation. 

He knows this person isn’t his soulmate. Logically, there are odds she might be, but weirdly Sylvain just knows, but understands by the way this has all been set up he won’t have a say. She will turn out to be his soulmate, she will be the person his life is shaped around. 

It strikes him, late in the evening on a Wednesday when he’s studying for a mock exam, that his father has always believed in early marriage to solidify ties. Considering Sylvain is already known in certain circles for being a flirt, he can already see himself being engaged to this person before his nineteenth birthday. 

As soon as it hits, everything narrows. His vision centres until all he can see is his feet and his head swims as if he’s not eaten in hours. His legs shake, he hits the floor but feels no pain where there should be, only in his lungs which are suddenly bound tightly closed. He cannot remember how to breathe. This knowledge instantly makes it worse, and he tries to gulp down air, but instead he makes some sort of wheezing noise. His stomach fizzes and he shuffles until his back hits the bed, legs up and clutched to him for some kind of comfort as nervous energy speeds through his limbs. 

_ I’m panicking _ , he vaguely realises, and on instinct he hangs his head low, trying to force his lungs to widen and his breathing to restart. It helps, but it doesn’t stop it, hands coming to his hair as he holds on while the world spins, and tries not to make it worse by thinking that it’s never going to stop. 

From this angle, he tilts his head and notices he’s dropped his phone. He scrabbles for it, chest still aching, and just clutches it in his fist for a moment, unsure. But he still isn’t able to breathe, still can’t imagine this ever stopping, and is so incredibly scared he unlocks it, and is dialing before he can think too much about it. 

It rings. Rings and rings and Sylvain tries to breathe, tries to calm as the dial goes on and on. At some point he realises he should give up and do something else, but he doesn’t know what. His arm seems stuck, hand clawed around his phone which is fixed to his ear. Even if he could move, what would he do? There’s no one to ask for help, no one he can turn to, he’ll just probably die up here, alone, but at least this feeling would be gone then, perhaps that would be be-

“Sylvain, it’s late.” 

Felix sounds so horrendously annoyed that it actually brings tears to Sylvain’s eyes, the comfort of knowing exactly what expression he’ll be pulling miles away in his room. He would normally have some quip to counter, but to speak effectively involves breathing and that part is still a struggle. He manages to make a vague gaping stutter of a noise and that changes Felix’s tone dramatically. 

“Sylvain? Are you hurt, where are you?” Felix says, sharp and instantly awake. 

Sylvain screws his eyes shut for he really is about to cry, the burn behind his eyes a warning. It takes him three more deep breaths, a tiny ease in the pressure enough for him to stutter out. 

“N-o. Home.” 

But that’s a lot of effort, and he has to inhale so deeply he thinks he’s going to be sick by the way it swirls and convulses inside him. Felix says something, but Sylvain only catches ‘panic attack’ and thinks  _ ah, yes, this is what’s happening _ which somehow makes it easier even if he’s sure at any moment he’s going to collapse. 

“Sylvain, listen. Try and breathe in for four, then hold for four, and out for four. It sounds shit but it works, okay? I’ll count, come on.” 

So he does. For a long time, occasionally cursing in between, which strangely helps Sylvain feel as if he’s not the only one angry and frustrated at the universe. It takes a while, but finally, Sylvain can breathe again, his whole body so suddenly exhausted as if he’s been running for hours. 

“Thank you,” he says, throat raw and grimacing when he catches sight of the time. 

“It’s fine. Go to sleep,” Felix says, voice soft and relieved, and he thinks he can imagine him smiling as he takes the phone away and hangs up. 

At school then next day, he sees Felix across the corridor once. Their eyes meet, for too long to be natural, and Sylvain’s breath hitches like he’s going back to the night before, but in a way that he knows is a thrill rather than despair. Eventually, they both have to look away. Neither say anything, but Felix’s eyes haunt him for the rest of the day. 

_ You need to think about that, _ a voice in his mind whispers. 

And he knows he does. But not just yet. There’s too much else to wade through first and he thinks if he adds something else he’ll drown. 

Not yet. But soon. 

* * *

It’s a Wednesday when Dimitri sits down in front of him at lunch. Sylvain is reading, so doesn’t notice until Dimitri almost knocks over his tray in an attempt to pick up a cup. 

“Sorry,” he says, wincing as three people look over, and Sylvain can’t help but smile and shake his head. 

“Well, that’s one way to get my attention. Hey,” he says with a laugh and Dimitri relaxes visibly. 

His hair is longer than Sylvain recalls, and has to calculate how long it’s been since he’s really had an opportunity to see his friend for longer than a few minutes. Spring is melting into summer, exams are almost upon them all, and Sylvain will be eighteen in a few months. It’s all moving far too quickly. 

“You went for that?” Sylvain says, nodding to the pile of something that looks like stew but is not a colour food really should be. School lunches are hit and miss here, and Sylvain’s learned to stay away from anything that can’t be clearly recognised. 

Dimitri blinks down at it, as if only just realising what he’s picked. 

“It seemed warming,” he says, almost sadly and Sylvain has the intense urge to hug him tightly. 

They sit in silence for a few minutes, Sylvain laying his book down and Dimitri concentrating on his food. Sylvain gives it time, until Dimitri takes a gulp of water and sets his cup aside. 

“I am...I’m sorry. For how it’s been lately. And what I said to you before. I didn’t mean it,” Dimitri says slowly, cutting to the chase and maintaining eye contact only every few words. 

“You did, though,” Sylvain says, voice low and what he hopes is steady, but knows by the way Dimitri phrases that some of the hurt has made itself known. 

This makes it more awkward, but it has to be aired, and Sylvain watches Dimitri struggle with how to continue while he too struggles with what this all means. 

“I suppose I did. But not in the way I said it. I know you work, you always have. It just always seems to click for you, while it takes me double the work to get anywhere near. I was jealous. I am jealous. But you’re my friend and that doesn’t matter,” he says, tone stubborn and full of an earnestness that Sylvain could never muster. 

“Thanks, man. You’re my friend too. And, if it helps I’m jealous of you too,” he says, thinking back on how he’d never in a thousand years be able to admit something as raw and cutting to anyone. Perhaps he could have done it before, but not now. 

Dimitri looks stunned. “You are?” he says.

Sylvain nods, but doesn’t elaborate. Dimitri doesn’t seem to need him to though, which is good as he thinks this is all the sharing he can handle in terms of deep conversations for now. 

“I hear you have another girlfriend,” Dimitri says and Sylvain grins, relieved to slip back into this. 

“A few dates, yeah,” he says, although his stomach sours at the fact this particular girl is mostly interested in what expensive presents he brings her. 

“I don’t know how you have time,” Dimitri says in awe, and Sylvain laughs. 

“Timetabling. Though if you want a study session, I’ll be working all Sunday. Probably hungover, but studying. If maths is still giving you trouble I can help,” he offers, and Dimitri lights up, immediately accepting. 

As promised, he turns up hungover to Dimitri’s place, and they set out to working through his maths homework. The problem isn’t that Dimitri can’t do it, more that he can’t fathom the ways they are teaching it; once Sylvain’s spent about an hour watching him work through the problems, it’s easy to see how he interprets numbers and patterns. 

Once he’s set, Sylvain is back to his own work, crunching through a practice paper and planning his coursework. They study in relative silence until Dimitri suddenly speaks, an impression of a whisper. 

“I miss Glenn. He was tutoring me. Even when he was away for University he’d still call and help. I feel like...like I can’t do any of this without him.” 

Sylvain looks up from his worksheet, as Dimitri sits hunched over his textbook, staring at the ink as if it can solve itself. All of sudden the person before him is not sixteen taking on his exams but six again, wanting to climb walls and needing someone to guide him up and down. 

And Sylvain was the person once. Maybe, he can do it again. 

“You can, though. You’re doing it right now. I think...Glenn would be happy that you are,” he says slowly, realising it’s the first time he’s said his name since he died. 

Dimitri swallows, a motion echoing with it’s difficulty. 

“I don’t know if I can make it all happen. My father is spending more and more time away, this is the first weekend I’ve seen him in so long. Rodrigue looks after me, but Felix hates it when I’m there. He isn’t talking to his dad, and it’s so awkward and I wish...I wish I could change it all,” Dimitri says, and Sylvain stands up, moving over to him. 

But Dimitri shakes his head, turning to look at Sylvain. “I’m fine,” he insists, and he’s not the child anymore, not the one Sylvain had protected and muddled through ridiculous plans with; he is older, and brittle and so very lost that Sylvain aches with the compulsion to reach out and bring him back. 

But Dimitri doesn’t want that. And that’s what’s between them right now. A loss and confusion so great it’s torn them all in ways Sylvain is only just discovering. For how Rodrigue’s dealt with his eldest’s son's death has alienated his youngest, somehow compensating with Dimitri while his own father is away so often. 

It’s all a mess, and Sylvain is beyond powerless to begin to unravel the tangles of others that he trips and winds himself in, so he pats Dimitri on the shoulder once. Dimitri doesn’t flinch, Sylvain would even say he leans into it, but his friend doesn’t want that to be the case. 

So he moves back to his chair, and they return to the safety of math. For at least, Sylvain thinks, they can still talk, still try, and are slowly beginning to reach forward. But exactly how long this will last for, he cannot say. 

* * *

He watches the website everyday, so when it changes he shouldn’t be surprised. Except he is, heart in his throat as he notices a new line of text underneath his application for Garreg Mach. 

Conditional acceptance. 

He stares. Utters the words, sounds out the letters, and triple checks before messaging Mercie to get out of her Biology class and check for him. He doesn’t know what excuse she gives, but she runs into the library, slamming the door loudly and ignoring the shushing she receives as she runs to him. 

Her hands attach to his shoulders as she stares at the screen. 

“You did it!” she whisper-screams and Sylvain buries his head in his hands, unable to even process what’s happening. Mercie hugs him from behind, and Sylvain looks back at the screen, the words still there. 

“Can I check mine?” Mercie asks, nerves in every word. Sylvain pulls himself together and nods, standing up so she can take a seat. 

They both wait, tension treacle-thick as she types with shaking fingers, bringing up the page. Unlike Sylvain’s, Garreg Mach is her top choice, the first listed. But just like Sylvain’s in bears the same wording. Conditional acceptance. 

Mercie slaps a hand across her mouth to stop the scream and it’s Sylvain’s turn to hug her, as she stares with wide eyes. 

“Knew you could do it, Mercie,” he says, and that apparently is the final straw because they are told to go to the common room if they’re going to be so noisy. 

They depart quickly, and Mercie obviously has no interest in going back to class, as she walks beside him to their House common room. There’s a few other final year students dotted around, but it’s fairly private, so they set up on one of the sofas, Sylvain only stopping to buy chocolate from the vending machine, as much of a celebration as they can have for now. 

“They want my predicted grades, so it should be fine,” Mercie says, looking at the details of her acceptance. 

Sylvain checks his. He frowns; they want an extremely high Literature score, which Mercie lets out a low whistle at. The others will be fine, but actually pushing that Lit to the top mark will be a challenge. But not impossible. 

“I can do it,” he mutters, and beside him, Mercie shifts. 

“I know you can. But do you want to? It’s a lot of work Sylvain,” she says, voice without judgement, just a question. 

And he knows the answer so very clearly. He wants this. Wants it like almost nothing else; he wants to read and examine words and the words they create, the influence and power of writing and their context of creation. He wants to walk the halls of Garreg Mach, to be away, and free, and far from anything. To shake off the shackles he’s had since he was six, to run from the panic and the anxiety this current life gives. 

“I want it,” he says, looking to Mercie. 

And she smiles, nods and hugs him. “Then let’s do it together,” she says. 

Which is what they do in the ensuing weeks that pass. Sylvain stops trying with his other classes, especially since his grade in business studies is a guaranteed A* unless he doesn’t show up to the exams. He works with his Lit teacher to widen his reading list, starts piling in theory and memorises additional quotes he can use. He cannot escape the clutches of his father, but uses this as time to go over the other subjects he’s secretly almost abandoned in favour of these new goals. 

And he feels more alive than ever. For he has  _ something _ . Like Ingrid with riding, Mercie with medical studies and Felix with fencing he is finally driven by something of his own. It washes away the haze and makes the world focus finely in a way he cannot remember in aeons. He wonders how long he’s been sleepwalking, drifting and letting the currents of others take him. How long he’s been watching things unfold while his mind takes the brunt of the pain and shaking. 

It doesn’t fully ease. There are days he can barely stay awake despite sleeping for ten hours, and times he stays awake until almost dawn with visions of all the ways his life can go wrong, sparking one after the other in a chain reaction. It isn’t actually better, whatever this constricting, heavy grasp is, but there is a sense of hope beside it. 

It is enough to get him through to the exams without having another panic attack, although his concept of time is completely ruined. Both Maths parts are mostly as expected with a few curve balls thrown in, Business is a breeze while Economics is harder than expected. 

Lit is his last exam. Strangely, it’s at the same time as Felix, Ingrid and Dimitri have their Maths exam, both sets of students waiting near one another as they wait to be invited into their respective classrooms. 

Sylvain is muttering quotes under his breath as he walks, Dimitri is doing something similar with a text book. 

“Dimitri, stop,” Felix says with gritted teeth. 

Dimitri pauses, and glares down at where Felix is sitting on the floor, textbook open. 

“I’m revising,” he says, an edge to his tone. 

“Well there’s no point now, the exam is in ten minutes,” he replies. 

The tension between them is ridiculous and Sylvain cannot handle it. 

“Would you both stop? I actually have to ace this,” he says with the force of his nerves pouring out into a louder comment than intended. 

Both stare at him. Dimitri huffs and turns away, marching to the other-side of the grounds near the wall. Sylvain sees Dedue slide up to him, but it seems as if Dimitri is now going to ignore everyone. 

“We’re all nervous. It’s fine,” Ingrid says quietly, but she looks pained as her eyes flick between them all. 

Sylvain cannot deal with another crack in their tenuous friendship group, so he turns and pulls at his hair, the pain a sharp grounding comfort when he thinks he’s going to be sick from nerves. 

“Hey.” 

He turns as Felix calls his name, and stalks forward to meet him. Sylvain inhales as he feels too unsteady to speak, but Felix gets there first. 

“Stop panicking. You studied. You know this. You’re already reciting everything. It’s fine, you’re just making it worse because you’re an idiot,” he says, looking annoyed the whole time. 

It’s Felix type affection to the extreme, and it makes Sylvain lessen the grip on his scalp on instinct. He manages a small smile, and strangely Felix’s cheeks pink and he turns away, huffing. Sylvain is about to thank him when a teacher calls for his year group. 

All at once the rush of nervous anticipation courses through and numbness sets in as he collects his bags. A wave from the corner of his eye catches his attention, and he sees Dimitri give him a thumbs up, looking nervous. Sylvain returns the gesture, and it works as a band aid for now. 

“Good luck,” Ingrid says with a grin as he turns to make his way to the classroom. 

Felix doesn’t say anything as he passes. What he does do though, is snag the little finger of Sylvain’s right hand with his own, squeezing it once. Sylvain keeps walking even as his eyes widen and his breath catches, his body forcing itself into the classroom. 

His hand burns from the contact. Sylvain watches his hand with a sort of disbelief, as if he expects a brand of confirmation of what just happened to be there. 

_ Soon. Soon.  _

And then the paper is before him and all else fades as he focuses on what could be his chance at escape. 

* * *

Sylvain turns eighteen, and with it he drinks more than he’s ever done before. 

He is the youngest of his friends and he manages to get Mercie to come out with them. She isn’t usually one for going out so states she’ll be leaving in time for the last train. Sylvain meets with the rest of the rugby team and ends up half drunk before they even arrive at their final stop, all of them grabbing onto each other's shoulders to stay standing. Somehow, they manage to look sober enough to enter the bar, his ID proudly confirming his date of birth, so for once he doesn’t have to sneak in. 

Mercie hugs him and laughs when he stumbles, already chatting to a few people she knows. She buys him a drink and he sips on it slowly as his head spins in the neon darkness of the bar turned club. Every word has to be shouted between them, half heard conversations with the beat and blast of the music from deep inside. The floor sticks to his shoes as he stumbles to the dance-floor, grabbing Mercie’s hand and twirling her as they all gather in a group, silly, tired, happy and done with one section of their lives, an adrenaline of freedom. 

Sylvain dances with all the girls in their group, flirts and buys drinks for a few of them. He loses count of how many and what he drinks, all of them blurring into sticky sweet tastes with a hint of alcohol underneath. 

At the bar, he eyes up a guy with an undercut, who grins in that specific way which means he’s interested; Sylvain knows that look well. And it’s timed perfectly for one of his friend’s comes back with shots, a dark liquid passed onto him with a chorus of ‘Happy Birthday!’ and he doesn’t think twice before downing it. 

It’s disgusting. His whole stomach revolts, heaving once and he covers his mouth with one hand, trying to laugh it off. He takes a sip of his drink but the combination of different types of alcohol is too far gone, and he feels worse. 

After that, it’s a rush and spin of moments collecting in scattered lines. He remembers dancing wildly, suggestively, and jumping until he feels he might break something, arms around his friends. He sneaks out with the undercut guy, shares a cigarette for the first time in his life, and makes out with him against the wall, back scraping along the brick. 

There’s a guy in a baseball cap who sees, calls them names that Sylvain can’t stomach and he’s in his face before he can blink. Then he’s back inside, in the bathroom with a freshly split lip, then finally, he reaches a stage of full recollection when sitting outside. 

He’s on the sidewalk, a nasty taste of bile and blood in his mouth, a comforting hand on his back. 

“Well, that was quite a birthday. Here, I bought you water. There’s a train in ten minutes, we can make it I think. Can you walk?” Mercie asks, as he peers up. 

At some point, she’d been accosted with glitter as it’s in patterns around her eyes, the curls of her hair falling out. He blinks, and the world tilts a little, but it’s getting better. He takes the water, top already undone and winces when the rim hits his lip. The cool liquid helps, another startling shift towards awareness. 

“Don’t wanna go home,” he says, slurring slightly. 

“You can stay at mine,” Mercie says, and Sylvain sort of wants to cry at the simplicity of the solution, of the fact that by this time she doesn’t need a full explanation of why he can’t face being home. 

He stands, wobbling a little and they make the slow walk to the station, Sylvain slumping onto the seat by the window. Mercie makes him drink water all the way back. He fades in and out of sleep and sickness, but isn’t actually sick again, which is a relief when they stumble back into Mercedes’ house, her shushing him as they make their way up the stairs. 

“Let me look at your lip again before we go to sleep,” Mercedes says, pushing him into the bathroom, the fluorescent light making his head ache. 

In the harsh brightness, he can see he’s a mess. He too has fragments of glitter on his face, but it seems to be more residue from others. His hair is standing up at all angles, his face extremely pale, a clear indication of his sickness earlier. His eyes are dilated, rapidly moving and his clothes, which he’d spent so long planning are rumbled, a little dirty and frayed. 

He has a huge bruise forming on his jaw, along with the just forming scab on his lip. He grimaces, feeling it pull painfully. 

“The other guy looks worse,” Mercie murmurs as she starts searching in a medical kit. 

“He fucking deserved it,” Sylvain says brutally, and Mercie turns to look him in the eye, antiseptic wipes in hand. 

“He did. And more, for what he called you. But I still don’t think hitting him was the answer,” she says. 

Sylvain shrugs, then bites back a cry when she cleans up his lip. As a distraction, his eyes flicker to the mark on her arm. 

“They’re thinking of you,” he remarks when she’s done. Mercedes looks down and smiles. 

“Probably wondering why I’m up so late. Don’t give me that face, it took us a long time to walk here,” she says, and Sylvain laughs, only halting when his lip smarts. 

“Looks like they’re thinking of you too,” she says, and sure enough it’s there, at the edge of his sleeve. 

All at once his mood falls, dips down to the lows it’s almost constantly at. 

“They shouldn’t. They should forget I exist,” he says, not able to look at her.

“Sylvain, don’t say that. I know you want to meet them,” Mercie says quietly, but in the small space it seems to echo. 

“And I shouldn’t want that either. Look at me,” he says, gesturing to the absolute state he’s in.

He’s never spoken of this to anyone. But now in this small room with too much starkness he and substance in his veins it pours out because there’s too much he keeps in and the cage is cracking. 

“What kind of soulmate am I? Whoever they are will end up being used by my father for his aims, and I’ve barely fought that my whole life. I keep looking for someone, anyone in a moment, and it doesn’t work. No one cares for anything but my name or my face or this stupid mark. And it doesn’t make me feel better, but I can’t stop, because maybe it’s them and maybe I’ll feel something. Anything,” Sylvain says, unsure when he started crying, but now he cannot see for the tears streaming messily in all directions. 

Mercie bends down, trying to see his face, gripping onto his hands. 

“Sylvain, you have many people who care about you,” she tries, but he shakes his head. 

“I got punched in the face and you were the only one who checked I was okay. Ingrid’s leaving, Dimitri’s pulling away and Felix..” he chokes off, and Mercie grips his hands tighter. He spends a moment trying to curb the tears, get his voice back under control. 

“Are you going to tell him how you feel?” Mercie asks quietly. 

And Sylvain just cries harder into her neck at the question, her arms wrapping around him, clutching him tightly. 

For that’s the other problem. How can he find his soulmate when he’s already falling for someone else? And when that person is Felix, who has been so distant no matter what Sylvain does, no matter how much he trips up over his own heart towards him, Sylvain cannot get any closer. 

He has nothing to offer Felix. Nothing at all. He’s known that for so long but it’s pure agony now that he has to admit that each time they touch it burns for hours, that he wants to share every insignificant part of his day, wants to know what Felix is thinking when he frowns when he smiles, when-

It’s too much. He can’t do it. He’s not ready to grasp the depth of this, or resolve himself against potential outcomes. His armour is cindered and chipped, he’s used it up over the years on so many other instances. And now he’s just raw and exposed and he’s breaking. Slowly, minute by minute until he’s like this, crying in his friend’s bathroom after his eighteenth birthday party. 

His growing feelings for Felix do not help this. It doesn’t hinder this either. It just  _ is _ and like so many other facts of his life, he just grips onto it and hopes one day, everything will just stop spinning. 

“We’ll get out of this. I promise. We will,” Mercie whispers as he sobs, and even in his fragile state Sylvain knows that he will. He has to. Otherwise, he’s not going to be able to keep this up, and the consequences of that scare him more than anything else. 

* * *

Ingrid leaves on a Saturday morning. They stand in her driveway, the remnants of her life either shipped off or packed into boxes which seem to flimsy to contain anything of her. She appears small to Sylvain as she stands before them, smile shifting rapidly in that way which means she’s on the verge of holding herself together, so as ever, he goes to her first. 

He tries to memorise the hug. How she fits into him, how they both cling to one another, her stronger than him in many ways. She inhales shakily against him then steps back, eyes dry but smile flickering. 

Dimitri manages to rouse himself enough to take the next hug. He’s now at least a head taller than her, strange as to Sylvain when he recalls how Dimitri would always flee at the sight of blood, so small in those regards when now he towers over Ingrid and hugs her stiffly. 

It’s clear from the second Dimitri stands back that neither Ingrid nor Felix know what to do. Sylvain can feel the thickening strands of awkwardness tighten; the friends that once were so close, both touched in different ways by Glenn’s death and never the same. 

So it’s heartening when they both step forward at the same time. It adds yet another layer of awkwardness but a different, better brand as they both try and fumble their way to a goodbye hug across the distance. 

It gives Sylvian hope; a little promise that they can work this thing out, even as he watches Ingrid’s car drive away until there’s truly nothing left to say. He feels a presence by his side as he does, knowing who it is. 

“She’s gone, stop standing around.” 

A smile permits itself to appear on his face as he turns to Felix.

“Let me be sentimental for a sec, would you?” he says and Felix scoffs. 

“We’re now just loitering on a driveway, we need to go,” he states, and reluctantly Sylvain agrees. Dimitri shuffles awkwardly along to meet them. 

“I must go, I said I’d come back home as soon as I could,” he says, obviously both reluctant and keen, which must mean his father is home. 

“Bye,” Felix says so dismissively that it hurts Sylvain as a byproduct. But Dimitri’s expression doesn’t change. 

“See you later?” Sylvain says, and Dimitri smiles fully, nodding enthusiastically before offering a wave and walking away. 

Sylvain sighs heavily, and looks back at Felix. 

“Was that entirely necessary?” he says.

Felix glares back. “I just said goodbye,” he states, and there’s too much bite in his bark, and it hits Sylvain that he’s probably reacting to Ingrid’s departure, which would explain why Dimitri was relatively unfazed. 

Sylvain is not used to Felix anymore, and it creates a faltering in his steps and mind as they walk back home. 

“Your interview…” Felix starts, and Sylvain frowns, before realising what he’s talking about. He looks over at Felix from the corner of his eye, as they walk together early in the morning, and it falls into place. 

“Garreg Mach. And I got in.” 

Felix jerks to a stop and Sylvain turns, not sure what he will see. It’s mostly surprise, wide eyes and a little awe but there is something on the edge of it that he’s not seen for many years in Felix: fear. 

“Are you...going there? They don’t do Finance,” he says, every word slow and measured, although Sylvain is not sure what against. 

“It’s for Literature. And yes. Don’t tell anyone,” he says, the last coming out in a rush. 

Felix, still stunned, shakes his head. “I won’t. That’s...well done,” he says, and he smiles, such a fond expression which rolls thunder through Sylvain and he is struck so utterly by it. It must show in his face for Felix blushes, of all things, then lifts an arm to tug at his hair. 

An arm with curved script across his bicep. 

Sylvain gasps, and Felix notices what he’s done at the same moment. He drops his arm behind his back and his face is now perfectly blank, grabbing the jacket tied around his waist and flinging it on despite the summer heat. 

“Shut up,” Felix says and Sylvain holds up his hands in surrender. 

“I didn’t say anything! But...Felix, your soulmate th-” 

“I said, shut up. I don’t want to talk about it,” he says, then strides off. 

The delayed bullet aiming for his heart hits dead centre as Felix walks away. His breath departs, stolen with those strides and curves of words he cannot see. 

Felix’s soulmark has transformed. And Sylvain drowns in his ever increasing feelings for him while he strides away with a bond blooming on his skin. So Sylvain does what he has always done, and chases after him. 

“Wait, I’m sorry it’s none of my business, ah, Felix stop marching, wow why are you so fast,” he says with a laugh and Felix grudgingly slows. 

“Sorry, I really am,” Sylvain says as they fall back in step. Felix spares him a glance, but that’s all, and Sylvain feels that the apology is accepted. 

They walk in silence for a moment before Felix speaks again. 

“I’ve had it for nearly a year,” he says, chopped and stilted so much that Sylvain cannot read any meaning in his words other than facts. 

“Oh,” he says, for lack of anything else in mind. The bullet scuttles deeper, immerses itself but Sylvain cannot reveal how much it aches. 

Soulmates can be platonic, familiar or romantic. This doesn’t mean Sylvain cannot fall for him, if he even has a choice. But it adds a layer of something else, not to mention that Felix received this so long and not told him. Was it even before Glenn’s death? Must have been around then, if it’s been ‘nearly a year.’ Has he had this person as a support in some way? Sylvain hopes so, and it’s that thought that makes him steady: for he’s glad that Felix has this, has a person confirmed and tied to him. 

“Hey, it must be nice to have them, right? Mine still flickers in and out when it feels like it. Although Mercie once told me it’s when they’re thinking about me. I’ve always liked that idea,” he confesses, as it’s a day for truths and he feels like baring his soul. 

Felix doesn’t look at him, just marches on, head down. 

“It is a nice idea,” he confirms, quiet and thoughtful. 

They part soon after, atmosphere strange in a way Sylvain can’t identify. He turns over his arm and sees the mark, sighing as he presses his thumb into the skin there, absently tracing it. And simply thinks of them, whoever they may be. 

* * *

After the disaster that is his birthday, Sylvan vows he won’t go out on results night. He’s too nervous to even think about the hours afterwards, his fingers tapping on the car door as Mercie drives them to school. She’d volunteered, and he’d been too flustered not to accept. 

She drives perfectly but has to take a moment to steady herself before they walk into school. It’s the same set up as before, the printed papers on the desk and Sylvain finds his name before practically running out of the door and back outside. Mercie doesn’t follow, knows he needs a minute. The paper flutters in the breeze between his fingers, such a fragile material which contains what feels like his destiny in ink and parchment. 

So he flips it over, has to wait for his brain to capture the letters and numbers which make up his final grades. 

He’s done it. The literature mark sits there at the top of the list, higher than any of the others, a string of top marks which would make anyone proud. But he’s only there for the first of them, a hysterical laugh echoing at the reality he’s just made. 

Then his mind clicks onto action mode, and he runs back inside. He’s also got the grades to Kingdom, so he needs to reject his first choice and take his second, which he doesn’t know how to do. Fortunately, his Literature teacher is expecting this, and after a series of phone calls, he has an email on his phone with the proof. In six weeks, he’ll be heading to Garreg Mach university, enrolled on their Honours Literature course. 

Mercie finds him halfway through, her own acceptance into Garreg Mach confirmed, and sits right next to him as he works out the final details. They both sit in stunned silence when it’s all done, neither of them really sure what to do with the fizz of energy in their veins. 

His father is away on business, so he dutifully snaps a photo of his paper and sends it. He’s given a perfunctory ‘good work’ as his answer, and it suffices. His father doesn’t need to know he’s rejected his place at Kingdom. Not today, anyay. Today he’s just going to live the high of achievement for himself. Which ends up being lunch at Mercie’s house, her father also away, but it’s a place Sylvain would prefer to be. 

Their fabulous four group chat rings with messages from the others asking how he did. Sylvain stares at it from the table as they wait for their food to arrive, a small pang of sadness as the date stamps of previous messages have so much time between them,but less time than before. He can’t quite work out what it all means. Are they moving forward or just away? Are their paths diverging or they just haven’t worked out how to meet at the crossroads? 

He recalls that discussion with Felix, the only one who knows. He’s also only sent one message, a simple one wishing him well while not interacting with the others. So he sends his results, plain and simple, it’s all he needs to tell the whole story to everyone involved. They are happy for him, or at least he gathers from the celebratory replies he gains. But only one of them truly knows how momentous this day is. 

Annette arrives after they’ve eaten, hugging Mercie and jumping up and down with excitement.

“I’m going to miss you so much! But you did so great, Mercie! And Sylvain wow, the Literature course is hard to get into, you did so well!” she says, and dives at him for a hug. 

It’s a surprise but not unwelcome at all, and he laughs and lifts her a little as he stands to his full height. 

“Thanks, Annette, and hey, these cookies are amazing,” he adds, taking a bite of the gift she brought them. 

“Not quite as good as Mercie’s, but thank you,” she says, all smiles and a little out of breath. 

“You’ve already booked your ticket to visit, so I don’t think you’ll have time to miss me, what with all the classes you’re taking,” Mercie says. 

Annette fixes her with a determined stare. “Well, I’m aiming for Garreg Mach in two years, so I need to study hard,” she declares. 

Sylvain grins, enthused by her goals and aims. He’s only just reached the tip of the iceberg on that front, but seeing her being so clearly ahead makes him excited for his own future. 

“Just remember not to exhaust yourself,” he says, ruffling her hair until she ducks out of the way with a stern glance. 

He leaves them for a moment to take a call from his father. He braces himself for discovery, but it’s just an update on his schedule; he’ll be home by the end of next week, which is five weeks until Sylvain starts University. He mentally checklists the things he’ll need to prepare in that time, solidifying his position for the moment his father finds out what he’s done. But he’s too busy working, or at least that’s what Sylvain is banking on. 

When he arrives back in the kitchen, Annette is gone, but Mercie pulls him over. Then, without warning, she shrugs off her cardigan and shows him her wrist. There, in small, curved writing is the word ‘Defender’. He gapes, this being the first time he’s seen a completed mark up close. Mercie giggles at his reaction. 

“I was a little surprised too. Annette’s been my friend for so long. I’m not sure for the moment if it’s platonic or more. But whatever it grows to, I’m happy,” she says, and Sylvain hugs her tightly, no more words needed. 

The next few weeks feel like an interim. Sylvain spends his time out and away, a preparation for what’s to come but also clinging onto the edges. He and Mercie organise their plans for Garreg Mach together and he spends time with friends he knows, despite promises, will fall to the wayside within a few months of being apart. 

He calls Ingrid on her own results day, her gleeful analysis of her marks causing him to smile. Dimitri has done well enough, a range of marks from fantastic to average, a few where he obviously panicked, but nothing that will cause him problems. Felix has done well except for, surprise surprise, computer science which he outright failed, most likely on purpose. Rodrigue’s face looks pinched when Sylvain arrives with celebratory cookies. 

“Serves the school right for making it compulsory,” he says and Sylvain laughs into his cookie, all of the treats segmented so Felix has his own spiced variety. 

“I’ve decided to study history and politics,” Dimitri announces, smiling in a relieved way, clearly happy to be able to drop the subjects that bother him. 

“What a bore you are,” Felix says drily, and Dimitri’s face falls into something akin to a pout. 

“But you’re taking history too,” he says. 

“Yes, actual history. Modern history is not history,” he states and Sylvain leans forward holding out an arm. 

“Let’s not do this again, I can’t handle another ‘what is history’ debate,” he says, rubbing his temples. 

Although it feels like them, and that in itself is light. 

“Well, in two years we’ll all be at Kingdom once more. I assume Ingrid still wants to go,” Dimiri says, smiling brightly. 

Felix twitches but doesn’t comment, and Sylvain offers a strained smile to Dimitri. 

“That’s assuming you get in, considering how you failed art,” Felix replies suddenly, and Dimitri’s mouth drops open in horror, conversation shifting. 

Sylvain feels a little guilty as he leaves a few hours later. He needs to tell Dimitri and Ingrid, will tell them but it doesn’t ever feel like the right moment, and it’s a few weeks to go before he leaves. 

But as if by fate when he exits the car the moment he gets home, his father is waiting by the door. 

“My study. Now.” 

It’s time. It’s happened. Sylvain has imagined this moment for weeks but living it is an entirely new sensation, his heart a jackhammer and his breathing escalated with every step he climbs after his father. The door closing may as well be a slam as his father whirls around and glares at him. 

“You turned down your place at Kingdom, what the hell were you thinking, Sylvain? It’s too late for me to do anything about it. Do you know how many people we have annoyed with your stupidity? You were set up to go this year, the world doesn’t stand still for you,” he yells, voice louder by the second. 

But Sylvain has come this far, this close to what he wants. 

“I turned it down as I got into Garreg Mach,” he says, voice quieter than he would like, but steady. 

“Garreg Mach? They don’t do a Finance course, Sylvain. What the hell did you sign up for?” 

“Literature,” he says, the single word managing impossibly to echo. 

His father slams his fist on the desk, Sylain unable to suppress the jolt that runs through. “An utterly useless degree. I will not stand for this, Sylvain. I will not let you throw away your future on some whim,” he yells and Sylvain has to breathe in deeply to try and control himself. 

“It’s one of the best schools in the country, I’m not throwing away anything. All graduates have a 91% employment rate in the first year, 93% on my course. Plus as you said, the term starts in two weeks. It’s too late.” 

There is silence in the room at the words, fact he’d prepared for this day or similar. His father calculates his stances, mulls over the words and then, with air of something which terrifies fundamentally, he smiles. 

“Fine. You may take this...degree if you must. It will be beneficial to spread our influence in another long standing school. A conversion course will only take one year, so you can have a more suitable qualification once you graduate,” he says. 

_ I won’t take a conversion course _ , Sylvain thinks, but nods minimally knowing these is more to come. 

“And you will return home whenever I say. You are needed here as well; this is the trade for an education so far away,” he announces. 

Sylvain nods, deeper this time as that’s not too bad. He hasn’t completely broken free of the chain but it’s stretched to its limit. Besides, problems can always happen; car trouble, last minute meetings for classes, and Sylvain is oh so clumsy with his phone. He can avoid some of these return calls, he’s sure. 

And with that, the bargain is struck. He’s free, he’s gone and it’s all on him. The world suddenly opens in a way it’s never done before, the potentially limitless, the places unexplored-

It’s a little terrifying. 

But when he messages Felix to tell him his father knows and hasn’t stopped him, he receives the words ‘I’m proud of you’ in return. 

And it’s a little better after that. 


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “So...who is Felix?” she asks. 
> 
> “A friend from home. Wait, why are you looking at me like that?” he says and she peers at him. Bernadetta scoffs. 
> 
> “What, so you’re allowed to pester me about boys and I can’t do the same?” she demands and Sylvain splutters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you as ever, to all of you lovely people reading. I'm so happy you're here. 
> 
> Audrey, my lovely friend and beta, thank you for your help once more <3
> 
> Enjoy reading!

University is a strange limbo between the real world as Sylvain imagines it, and the captivity of childhood. On the one hand, he is responsible for his own choices; no one will call home if he misses class, there’s no one to make him get out of bed, do his laundry or ensure he eats. Yet at the same time, there are meals in the dining hall he simply needs to turn up for, guidance officers who will aid him with any questions he has about general adult chores, and lecture notes are posted online after class. It’s like play testing being an adult in the safest possible way. 

But to him, it’s pure freedom. There is no one demanding a run through of his day, his grades, his choices. No one listening for his arrival a minute after curfew, and his classes are mostly picked from his own interests. It’s the most control Sylvain’s had over his life - and it’s wonderful. 

But dangerous. 

Garreg Mach resides in what was once a monastery, with a town below that was once no more than a hamlet, but is now a bustling city with everything he could need; and as a student city, this includes bars. While the locals go out on Saturdays, the bars and clubs practically beg students to haunt them on Tuesdays and Thursdays, with ridiculous discounts and deals at every turn. 

So that’s what Sylvain does. He has a favourite bar within a week, mainly because one of the girls along the hall is from the area, and knows exactly where to go. Dorothea becomes his first friend at Garreg Mach, knocking on his door with a grin every Tuesday night. 

“Two for one double vodkas?” she offers, to which Sylvain always agrees to, and it’s the start of another night which doesn’t end until morning. 

The ease with Dorothea is framed by the fact that in a rare occurrence, she wants nothing from him except for the night out; she stumbles back on heels she can dance in for five hours straight, still laughing at the guy who offered her hideous pick up lines and got a dressing down for his trouble. In turn, Sylvain raves about the music at the club by the railway tracks, and Dorothea promises they’ll go again when she hears that DJ is playing. 

It’s what they all do, the first years in this new sparkling freedom, taking advantage of every chance they have to dance, drink and explore, turning up to any Wednesday and Friday classes with varying degrees of hangovers. In a few short weeks, Sylvain becomes a master at surviving his Wednesday morning seminar with a combination of energy drinks of sugared coffee, just about managing to retain the information he needs to understand his first assignment.

“I can’t believe we have an essay already,” Sylvain mutters, and the girl next to him utters a tiny squeak before turning red and nodding. 

Sylvain smiles at her, and she manages a wobbling one in return. They always seem to sit near each other in class; he can’t remember her name, he’s not even sure she’s ever spoken it, she’s extremely quiet and always seems terrified of just being in class. Her purple hair makes her stand out though, and Sylvain is amazed someone so nervous decided to dye it such a vivid colour. 

The same girl is there collecting her essay a week later when Sylvain opens his to find an average grade. He blinks at it, rechecks the number. This has never happened before. Sure, he wrote the essay in a blaze of desperate inspiration just in time for the deadline, but he’s been doing that since he first received homework, and always gained top marks. 

“Errr...S-Sylvain?” 

He turns, still holding the papers and sees her looking at him in concern, and realises he’s just stopped in the middle of the corridor. 

“Oh, hey. Sorry, am I in the way?” 

She shakes her head, then looks side to side as if afraid of being overheard. 

“Did you...are you okay? I-I’m sorry if that’s not something you want to talk about, stupid Bernie, you can’t just-” 

“I’m okay, I just...didn’t do well,” he says, cutting her off with a worried look as she dissolves into a self scolding. Which is alarming, but also helps him recall her name. 

“Oh...oh, I didn’t either. N-not that I’m making it a competition!” Bernadetta says, but she holds forward her paper, Sylvain noting it’s only a few marks higher than his own. So he holds his out too. 

“Huh, you’re so good in class, I’m surprised,” she says, and Sylvain laughs, shrugging with his hand out wide. 

“Probably my own fault, I rushed the essay,” he says, and Bernadetta’s face falls. 

“I worked hard on mine, for days. But still this is all I can do. Bernie’s just no good,” she says, and Sylvain frowns. 

“Don’t be so hard on yourself, Bernadetta. The notes you let me borrow last week were amazing, you clearly understand it well. It’s just the first essay, looks like we’re both getting used to it,” he says. 

Bernadetta’s mouth falls open in surprise, then she blushes and turns her face down, looking so uncomfortable Sylvain worries he shouldn't have said that, but when she meets his eyes again, she’s smiling. 

“T-thank you,” she says, and Sylvain grins. 

“No problem, and hey if you ever want a study partner let me know. Maybe we can figure it out together?” 

Bernadetta splutters and utters a shriek before running away, yet still sits next to him in class on Wednesday while Sylvain tries to will his headache away. So he takes a chance and turns to her before she can run out of class as usual. 

“Do you want to go to the library? We can work on next week's novel, and I’ll buy coffee,” he says, unable to finish the sentence without winking. 

She makes a high pitched noise, but that turns out to be agreement, and another routine, another friend, is made. Which is good, as although Sylvain has no intention of stopping the amount of time he goes out, it seems he needs to study. 

And the need grows as the weeks go by. Despite having less classes than other courses, the amount of reading is substantial, which Sylvain should have guessed taking Literature, but when it’s a text per week plus the commentary, plus additional source material, it swiftly adds up. He’s not falling behind per say, but he’s not managing everything. His next assignment comes back better, with clear improvement, but it’s not enough. He’s still not within the top grade threshold, and that’s where his mind tells him he needs to be. 

So he works, and he goes out and it begins to feel much like last year. When he lays down to sleep his mind awakens, too many imaginings of potential outcomes. What if he fails? What if he can’t keep up with the course and has to drop out, go back to his father and face his knowing scorn? He’ll have to live his life with an even tighter leash then, marry this woman his father would like to think is his soulmate, become an accountant then-

More often than not, he has to sit up in his too small dorm bed and just inhale into the dark, remembering this is not his father’s house, and his thoughts are not his reality. Sometimes it works, and sleep comes. More often than not, he’s awake until the small hours before it all begins again. 

Mercie’s course runs every day, with classes until 5pm. She meets him for coffee one Saturday afternoon as the weather turns its way towards winter, scarf wrapped around her neck and hands cradling the steaming cup. 

“I don’t know how I’ll be able to do this,” she says, worry trembling through each word. 

Sylvain reaches out and grips her hand. “Hey. You can, I know you can. You’re already doing great, we’re still getting used to it,” he says. 

Mercie grips his hand back but sighs. “I’m not so sure, but thank you,” she says, and lifts her hand to rub unconsciously at Annette’s words on her arm, making him smile. 

“Oh! Sorry, I don’t even notice I’m doing it,” she says, blushing a little and making Sylvain smile more. 

“Nah, it’s cute,” he says, just as a voice interrupts. 

“Who are you calling cute now, Sylvain? Honestly, do you ever stop?”

He turns and grins up at Dorothea then winks at her.

“You’re still the cutest of them all, don’t you worry,” he says, and both his friends groan. 

“I’m Mercedes, we’re friends from school,” she says as an introduction, Dorothea smiling in recognition. 

“Oh, I’ve heard all about you! I’m Dorothea,” she says, pulling up a chair as Mercie slides over, both smiling. 

“Since you’ve known each other for years, you must have tonnes of stories about Sylv here,” Dorothea states immediately and Sylvain groans. 

“Don’t,” he warns and Mercie laughs. 

“Oh, yes. He punched a guy on his eighteenth birthday, that was pretty special,” she says and Dorothea gapes. 

“I was not expecting that, what happened?” Dorothea says, as Sylvain finds himself freezing on instinct. 

He still hasn’t told many people he’s bi. It’s not that he’s ashamed, and he’s pretty sure Dorothea has seen him checking out guys when they go out, but he’s so used to knowing he can’t tell. That it’s a part of him essential to be kept secret, away from his father and those who would inform him. 

But his father isn’t here, and Sylvain can be who he is. 

“Just some homophobe who called me something I won’t repeat when I kissed a guy,” he says with a shrug, mask coming into full force, as if he isn’t carefully awaiting Dorothea’s reaction. 

Her eyebrows raise, and then she nods. “Good for you. I wish I’d punched the guy who would make comments when I was out with my ex girlfriend,” she says, and Sylvain is stunned for a second with the casualness of her statement. 

“Neither of you should be punching anyone, oh I shouldn’t have brought it up,” Mercie says as both of them laugh. 

“Excuse me, are you being finished?” 

As Sylvain looks up, he hears Dorothea choke as he sees a woman standing over them, smiling with a tray, blue apron clashing a little with her dark pink hair pulled up in an expanse of braids. 

“I’m done with this one, yes, thank you,” Sylvain says, and she takes the cup with a smile. 

He turns and sees Dorothea just staring at the woman, and he has to stop himself from laughing, elbowing her once. Dorothea coughs, and then smiles. 

“I-I think I’m going to get a refill,” she says, and the woman smiles in reply. 

“I can be doing that for you. What would you like to order?” she says. 

Dorothea blushes a little but manages to ask for a latte, while Mercedes orders another tea. As soon as she leaves, both instantly turn to stare at Dorothea who drops her head into her hands. 

“Oh that was bad, I just...wasn’t expecting her, wow,” she mumbles, and Mercie pats her on the shoulder. 

“I understand,” she says sympathetically, and Dorothea groans.

“You have a soulmate though. Okay, tell me about them before I combust of embarrassment,” she demands and Mercie is more than happy to talk about Annette, Sylvain happy to listen to his friend speaking of someone she cares for so much. 

When Dorothea’s name is called for her order, Mercie turns to him. 

“Annie said Felix hasn’t heard from you. I think he’s worried. Have you really not spoken to him since you came here?” she says. 

Sylvain winces. Honestly, he hadn’t realised it has been so long, time seems to have vanished in a haze of getting used to this new way of life. He’s wanted to though, wanted to talk to all three of them, but Felix most strongly. He just isn’t sure how to begin or what he should say. 

He can’t dictate the evenings he goes out, drinks until he can’t hear his thoughts or his worries. Doesn’t want to tell Felix he’s anything but perfect when his grades are not as good as he wants, not as good as Felix has always seen them. He doesn’t want to worry him over the increasing insomnia, shakes he then gains from too much caffeine to keep him propped up in daylight. 

No. He doesn’t want to tell Felix any of this. 

“Sylvain, just text him. Or call him, maybe?” she says, just as Dorothea sits down. 

“Call who? Sylvain, are you holding out on me?” she says, waggling a finger. 

Sylvain shakes his head as Mercie gives him a flat stare. “It’s a friend. From back home,” he says. 

“Friend huh?” Dorothea says, obviously not believing a word, but thankfully she drops it. 

Sylvain however keeps returning to it as the day goes on, scrolls through his phone and wonders if he should call. But it’s been weeks, his parting message the last contact they shared. Felix probably doesn’t want him to call, is perfectly happy in his life without Sylvain there. Isn’t that why he’s had no message from him? Or anyone really in the past six or so weeks he’s been away. 

They are probably happier he’s gone. He’d be happier, if it were reversed. 

His mood drops dramatically over the next two days, and when Dorothea suggests carefully they could do with some fun, he dives in headfirst. It becomes a blur early on as their group of friends share shots and he mixes whatever drink comes into his mind when he goes to the bar. 

It’s the first night he goes home with someone, waking up in her dorm across campus with a raging headache and mouth full of sandpaper. She laughs at his stumbling attempts to get to the shower, kisses him goodbye with a force of a last remembrance, and he winks at her hallmates who giggle and grab her hand as she waves him off. 

Dorothea gives him a pointed look when he gets back, but he waves her off in search of a nap. He sleeps but feels worse afterward, the haze of a hangover not the only thing bothering him. But it doesn’t stop him from doing it again. Not too often, but a couple of times more he goes home with people, waving off his friends as he leaves the bar hand in hand with someone else. 

And for some time, it’s good to be wanted. For the hours, nights, mornings; be the sole focus of attention by a person that wants him and only him. Not his money, nor his name (for a few times they’re not even exchanged), nor the mark on his arm that he tries more than ever to pretend is not there. 

Yet it never stays for longer than the actions, leaving a residue of bitter disappointment. He can make his partners feel good, very good, but it’s only mechanics. It has no lasting effect stronger than memory, and that leaves Sylvain feeling lost in the knowledge it’s better than what he’s had before, but each repetition scoops out something fragile and dreamworthy which he thinks might be essential. But he can’t stop, doesn’t know that an alternative might be. 

His grades slowly improve but do not soar, his sleep becomes so haphazard his concentration snaps between hyper focus and dazed until final essays are due before the Christmas break. He’s had a couple of panic attacks when looking at tests for so long his eyes blur, but thankfully none in public. The good news is, the holidays are round the corner. His father will be away until the new year, so Sylvain doesn’t have to go home, but on hearing he’ll be alone, Mercie demands he spend the holiday with her. She’s visiting her mum and brother though, so he won’t be anywhere near his hometown. It’s perhaps that, and the fact he’s been awake for over a day which makes him pick up the phone and dial. 

He’s spoken to Ingrid recently, seeing as she sent him a long, annoyed email at his lack of communication, coincidentally shortly after Mercie had encouraged him to get in touch. Dimitri he isn’t sure what to say to, especially as Ingrid told him his father is getting remarried next year; a surprise to everyone including Dimitri. And Felix…

The phone rings, and in panic Sylvain checks the time, seeing as he’s so scattered. But it’s just after seven, it isn’t a problem. He’s suddenly reminded of a time where he called Felix unexpectedly late at night, the first time he’d had that now all too familiar clenching hand in his chest preventing his breathing from functioning. And just like then, a spike of red-hot shock goes through him when Felix actually picks up. 

“Sylvain?” 

He exhales, amazed at the fact he’s instantly shaking at just his name by Felix. He’s missed him, missed him incredibly and it hits in full force with one word. It takes him a moment, he has to swallow several times before he recalls how to speak. 

“Hey, Felix. How’s it going?” he says, leaning back in his chair. 

There’s silence on the other end of the line, not even the sound of breathing. 

“You call me to ask how it’s going? Really?” he says, and even though Felix sounds entirely annoyed, the familiarity of the tone has him smiling. 

“Why not, it’s been a while,” he says with a shrug, faking nonchalance as if it hasn’t been half tormenting him. 

Felix sighs heavily. “It has,” he acknowledges, but says nothing more. Sylvain drums his fingers on his desk, nerves building until Felix speaks. 

“You’re tapping.” 

Sylvain stills. “You can hear that? How did you know what I was doing?” 

“It’s a thing you do when you’re nervous. You started doing it sometime last year. It’s really annoying,” Felix states, and Sylvain bites his lip, unsure what to do with that new fact. 

He laughs, for covering unknown emotions with humour is an easy defense. “Well, all my essays are due over the next few weeks so must be that,” he says, and Felix hums in reply. 

“Leaving everything to the last minute again?” Felix asks and Sylvain shrugs to no one. 

“Maybe I’ve been distracted lately. So many dates, so little time…” 

Felix says nothing and Sylvain closes his eyes in frustration. He has no idea why he said that, an automatic response instead of admitting he’s panicking, the desperate need to do better at the back of his mind at every moment. 

So he clears his throat and tries again. “I have one 5,000 word essay due on Friday on chivalric code vs conduct novels. Reminds me of those old movies Dimitri used to quote.” 

Felix laughs. “I remember, he wanted to be King Arthur every time we played. What an idiot,” he says. 

“Shame he could never beat Ingrid in a race though, she was always King Arthur,” Sylvain says, smile almost hurting now. 

“The better king if you ask me. What are your other essays on?” 

They don’t talk for long, or about anything more than Sylvain’s essays and Felix’s upcoming exams. After silence for months, it seems a safe bet. But afterwards, Sylvain feels better than he has in weeks, just the ability to talk to someone about something genuine as an escape, a calming influence he hasn’t known in a while. 

He manages to sleep that night. 

* * *

For Felix’s seventeenth birthday, Sylvain sends him a pair of mittens with small cat face designs near the fingers. They’re dark blue and fluffy inside, made for adults and Sylvain laughs the whole while he packs them up, snapping a photo and sending it to Ingrid. 

_ He’s going to burn them, I love it _, Ingrid replies, but Sylvain is sure they’re more likely to be angrily slammed into a drawer until the end of time. He does get him an actual present to go with it, although it’s just small things: coffee Petra recommended after a long discussion on Felix’s particular tastes, a fancy but simple set of wooden mugs to go with it, and some sort of fencing maintenance kit Annette had recommended. It’s not the best present, and he’ll have to think of something amazing for his eighteenth birthday, but it shows he cares. 

He hopes, anyway. Mercie, and Dorothea, after one slightly drunken night he barely remembers, seem to have become cheerleaders for anything Felix related when it happens. 

“I think the mittens are adorable,” Mercie says on his way back from posting them. 

“They are, but you could be more direct,” Dorothea says, and he groans. 

“There is nothing to be direct about,” he says as his two friends exchange glances. 

He’s unsure what he said to Dorothea, but he does remember his conversation with Mercie and it’s...complicated. Felix has a soulmate and Sylvain doesn’t know if his mind can wrap around how he feels about that, let alone how he currently feels about Felix. 

“Did I see you wandering the halls at 5am by the way? Why were you up so early? At least I had practice, I thought you Lit students had no classes before 10am,” Dorothea asks when it’s clear he’s not moving on this. 

“I didn’t sleep,” he says and Mercie’s eyes narrow.

“Are you still not sleeping? Maybe you should go to the doctor, it’s been months, Sylvain,” she says, carefully, as Dorothea’s brow creases in worry. 

Sylvain waves them off with a laugh, but his mind fizzles a little with the reminder. His sleep schedule is erratic at best, but it’s fine. His grades are finally pushing towards where he wants them to be, and he seems to be getting his head around how university works. It’s all coming together. A little sleep loss and occasional panic isn’t going to stop him. 

His only solace is in Bernadetta, who struggles herself with sleeping amongst other things, who seems to take Sylvain’s schedule as a sign of their companionship. He ends up spending most nights he can’t sleep with her, either studying or watching videos until one of them is too tired to keep going. 

“Can I ask your opinion on something?” Bernie mumbles quietly one night, and Sylvain looks up from his phone with a nod. 

“Sure,” he says and she stands, moving over to the corner of her room which is covered in various art projects. Sylvain sits straighter; normally she’s pretty careful about not showing pieces until she’s done, but this time she pulls off the canvas and turns it around. 

“What do you think of this part?” she says, pointing. 

Sylvain looks at it for a second. “Very red,” he concludes, and Bernie makes an angry noise so he laughs. 

“I’m not good at art, I love it but I am no critic so not a great person to ask. I like it though. Why?” he asks, as she sighs and glares at the painting. 

“Someone...made a comment about it,” she says slowly. 

Sylvain frowned. “A comment? Bernie, you’re a great artist, anyone who says otherwise isn’t worth your time,” he says, and she looks up, startled and flushing. 

“N-No, I think he was trying to be helpful? I don’t know. Arg, I think I ruined it,” she wails, staring again at the picture. 

“He?” Sylvain says, unable to keep the lilting tone out of his voice. 

Bernadetta to his amusement turns bright red and he spends the next few weeks trying to get any information about this guy he can, but she’s good at keeping secrets. He doesn’t stop though, only teasing on occasion and only as much as she can take. It’s at one of these times, when he’s running again through the few people in their class she might have met, that Felix calls. 

Sylvain stops talking mid sentence and just stares at his phone. Felix has never called him. Ever. Except that one time when he fell down the well, but Sylvain hadn’t been conscious to receive it. So without explanation, he dives for his phone, fingers scrambling to answer. 

“Felix, hey!” he says, and Bernadetta frowns at him. 

“Hey. Are you busy?” he says, sounding uncharacteristically nervous to Sylvain’s ears, who shakes his head for a moment before realising Felix can’t see him. 

“No, just with a friend, what’s up?” he says, as Bernie goes back to her book without a glance. 

Felix hesitates on the line, Sylvain only sure he’s there by the sound of his breath. 

“Thank you for the gifts,” he says, short and to the point, as Sylvain grins, flipping over onto his back and staring at the fairy-lights Bernie has strung all over the ceiling. 

“You’re welcome, can’t wait to see you modelling the mittens,” he says. 

“I take it back, I’m only thankful for the coffee,” Felix says. 

Sylvain laughs loud and clear, the whole feeling cathartic. “Oh come on, you know you love them.” 

“No. I’m hanging up now.” 

Sylvain laughs again. “Feeelixx noo, okay you liked the coffee. I take it that means it’s getting you through classes?” 

Felix huffs on the other end. “I’ll be fine,” he says, and although Sylvain feels there may be more underneath that, he doesn’t ask. 

“How's Dimitri doing?” 

He knows it’s the wrong thing to ask as soon as Felix doesn’t reply, and he finds himself closing his eyes in frustration. 

Felix's reply is clipped and measured, tension in every syllable. “I don’t know. I rarely see him.” 

“I see,” Sylvain says, and doesn’t know how to take it back to the teasing, lighter tone of just a few minutes ago. 

So he waits, anticipating the dial tone, and is therefore surprised when Felix speaks again. 

“We don’t really talk. I can’t...Dedue changed schools, and with Ingrid gone he’s on his own most of the time. I don’t see him, even when he’s staying here, he and my father just...I don’t know, I think he’s tutoring him.” 

_ Like Glenn did _, Sylvain doesn’t say but it hangs between them anyway. Sylvain sits up and closes his eyes for a second, watching the lights dance behind his lids. It must be lonely for Felix, he realises. Ingrid and Sylvain both left, and Dimitri is all that’s left of their group. Rodrigue and Felix’s relationship has never recovered, and Sylvain is deeply glad Felix has Annette, or he’d be considering driving back right this second. 

They haven’t been as close over the past few years, but the care he’s always had has never wavered. So he sighs into the receiver. 

“You know you can call me, whenever you need,” Sylvain says.

Felix scoffs. “I’m not that desperate.”

And when Sylvain laughs this time it’s back to the freeing balm, for he knows despite the harshness in the response there is no bite to it. They say goodbye quickly, and Sylvain has been so wrapped up in the conversation he jumps with Bernie puts a hand on his shoulder. 

“S-sorry!” she says when he jumps, and he smiles, shaking his head. 

“No no, my bad,” he says, and she smiles hesitantly before she looks at him carefully. 

“So...who is Felix?” she asks. 

“A friend from home. Wait, why are you looking at me like that?” he says and she peers at him. Bernadetta scoffs. 

“What, so you’re allowed to pester me about boys and I can’t do the same?” she demands and Sylvain splutters. 

“It’s not the same!” he says and Bernie glares, harder than he thought possible, then throws a pillow at him which he only just manages to dodge. 

But once again, another person manages to worm a few stories of Felix from him; and Sylvain has to admit that it’s not hard for him to talk about the person he still considers his best friend. In exchange, Sylvain learns that the painting critique is called Lindhart and Bernadetta screams and almost throws him out of the room when he starts offering dating advice. 

* * *

He goes home as spring sets in, having been unable to put off seeing his father any longer. It’s probably the best holiday to go home for, still fairly far from final exams, and in general more on track. That is, until he’s informed that he’ll be meeting a woman. 

“She is the perfect match, your soulmate. I worked with her father a few years ago, and she’s studying at Kingdom. Seeing as you decided not to attend, we’ll have to schedule meetings every few months while you’re both studying, until your engagement is set,” he says, with barely any more greeting than a perfunctory hello. 

Sylvain is too shocked to respond, although why he’s not sure. Of course his father would continue with plans as he saw fit; Sylvain just attending the wrong university is a temporary set back. He sits, staring at nothing with his hands clenched, unable to move or speak for at least ten minutes. He feels trapped, the walls of the study closing in, his home a trap set up to keep him in line no matter how many times he tries to break free. 

He doesn’t recall leaving the study, only comes to breathing heavily hunched over in his old bedroom, head pounding. His eyes blurry with tears and his chest strains against the pressure he’s suddenly under. It takes him a moment, but his mind brings him back to that time when this first happened, and slowly it reminds him of the words Felix told him then, the calming method to slow his breathing. He lets Felix’s voice guide him until he’s finally steady enough to stand and look around. 

He’d taken most of his belongings, so the room feels like a mirror of his life, a false approximation of the least important parts of him. Clothes that no longer fit, books he’s finished, and a few photos he didn’t take with him. He walks up to the sparse wall which contains posters, photos and gig tickets, noticing a faded picture still there, half behind a basketball photo. It’s him and Felix; he must be no more than ten years old, head tipped towards Felix, who is staring not at the camera, but at a giant ginger cat sat on his lap. 

Sylvain takes it, caught at the way his smile curves as he looks at the person taking it, although he doesn’t remember this day at all. It’s summer, both of them in t-shirts and sitting on a grass and strangely, he can see both of their soulmarks, stark and bright. Felix’s is curved over his arm, larger than Sylvain remembers it, but it might be the angle he’s lifted his hand up to pet the cat. His own is dark on his skin where he has hands folded on his lap. He doesn’t know why he focuses on them; probably due to his father’s declaration of his soulmate’s appearance today. But for a moment, he cannot stop staring at just how bright the marks are, as if everything else has faded with time in the image, apart from these two symbols. 

But time continues and he’s called downstairs. He tucks the photo away, oddly happy there is still a piece of his childhood hidden in this ghost of a room. It keeps him wistful enough to endure the first meeting of his intended and her father. 

The woman’s name is Angharred; she smiles faintly at him, a look which seems just as formal as every other part of the afternoon, and says little. Her hair is chopped into a bob which suits her well, eyes extremely dark and tired looking. She's studying engineering, which is the only time she perks up during the conversation and offers more than a few words. He glimpses passion in her there, and he finds himself responding in kind when she asks of his own studies. But the conversation is generally ruled by their father's business discussion, as if this is simply another transaction. 

Which of course, it is. 

He isn’t able to exchange more than a short goodbye with her before they leave, and his father grips his shoulder with a proud smile. 

“Well done, son. Now, we’ll set up a meeting before your exams, and then another when you’re home for the summer,” he says, before clapping Sylvain on the back and leaving him to stand there. 

Sylvain blinks as he moves away, utterly perplexed at how easy this is for him to see his child as a chess piece to move back and forward. And while the helplessness still surrounds him like an ever present blanket, there’s a tiny spark of rage underneath it all which is new and bright, hot and pounding. But it doesn’t stop him from checking his wrist. Nothing. His soulmark isn’t even visible. 

He feels the frustration and despair rise up anew, but he forces it back down when it belongs, as for now, he has someone to see. 

Dimitri is with his father for the holidays, but Felix is here. So Sylvain plans to spend his second day home with his friend before leaving as fast as he can to visit Ingrid before he goes back to Garreg Mach. He’s still so besotted with the photo of he and Felix as children that he takes it with him as a conversation starter. 

And perhaps he’s worried in person it may be as stilted as it sometimes is over the phone. It’s strange; they aren’t as close as they once were but there is less in the way than there had been before. He isn’t sure what direction that’s coming from, but he likes it anyway. In the back of his mind there’s a part of him whispering that perhaps they should actually discuss this jagged and gaping vacuum, but that part of him also doesn’t have the capacity to comprehend what these gaps are. There is no language he has to face them, no emotion he’s ready to succumb to. 

It’s better and he’ll take it. 

Felix blinks at the image over coffee. 

“You don't remember this?” he says, and Sylvain almost wants to scrabble to a lie, but he shakes his head. 

“I take it you do?” 

Felix looks at the photo once more, then puts it down, nodding once. 

“Glenn took it, I didn’t even know you had the photo. The cat used to live next door to Ingrid’s place. I was the only one who it would let near, and this is the first time it sat on me. You have a bandage on your finger, so you must be about eight,” he says, sliding it back. 

Sylvain blinks, then picks up the photo and squints at the image. Sure enough, his middle finger is wrapped in bandages, just visible from where it sits in his lap. 

“You remember when I hurt my finger?” he says, slowly, seeing as Sylvain can’t remember this too well. He had a lot of injuries at this time. 

Felix frowns. “You needed surgery, of course I remember. You caught a basketball awkwardly and the break almost shattered it. All three of us made you cards. Lots of glitter, urg,” he says and Sylvain stares. 

He can’t remember any of this, actually doesn’t have this time as if it never existed. 

“You really thought I caught a basketball wrong?” are the words which come out, and he can’t understand how they came into being. 

Felix freezes, entirely rigid. Sylvain wants to snatch the words from the air, click back time, anything to not be living in this moment. He doesn’t know why he’s suddenly lost the perfect control he’s always had when it comes to Miklan. He’s never even imagined, in all his years, telling someone. Despite that numerous injuries and the times he almost died, his father took years to actually separate them, and Sylvain understood the anger his brother held for him, the need to lash and strike. 

He doesn’t feel about it correctly, he knows this. In the way he doesn’t hate Miklan for his actions he doesn’t blame his friends for not thinking something was strange about it. He never considered any option but hiding it. Yet much like his inability to breathe, his growing necessity to take steps towards abandoning his father’s wishes, even if he’s clawed back each time.

Felix exhales, and his limbs find life again, his motions as he sits back and picks up his half-empty cup deliberate and careful. He looks up at Sylvain; his hair is growing, Sylvain thinks, or perhaps he’s just pulling it back differently, the way it almost falls into his eyes. 

“No, I didn't. And you didn’t fall down the stairs either,” he says, and there’s something between fire and venom in his words, stored and dripping with something years fermenting in his head. 

And Sylvain can’t tell what feeling arises in his chest, in the depths of his heart. It’s bound up in that locked space of everything which seems to be happening lately, that emotion that feels like the clearest inhalation after drowning. It’s warming, such a Felix driven sensation that he realises he’s always had with him, a comfort even if he’s not so sure what it means. So it ebbs and slows, this swelling brightness that has a name he can’t quite say yet. 

“Sylvain…” Felix starts, and his hand jerks as if he’s trying to reach forward. But once again, there is this barrier, this pause. 

But Felix looks at him, face shifting through expression before he looks away, unable to keep eye contact while Sylvain cannot seem to recall how to blink. 

“Tell me again about your Shakespeare paper,” he demands, and Sylvain literally jumps in his seat, cup wobbling. 

“What?” he says, voice coming out strained. 

“You had a Shakespeare paper on Richard III. I’m writing an essay on the War of the Roses, it might help,” he says, looking dismissively back. 

Sylvain laughs. “I highly doubt that,” he says. 

“Why?” Felix demands, and hours later, when Sylvain is sitting at home, throat aching from the many hours of debates only beginning with that time in history, he realises that it was a perfect distraction topic. 

* * *

The strangeness in his mind doesn’t change as the week goes by. He finds himself almost arguing with his father, not sleeping at all, and he’s exceptionally glad when he packs up his bag and drives to Ingrid’s. With every mile away from his old home, his chest seems to loosen, his mind feels freer, as if the literal separation really can keep him from the realities of his home life. 

Ingrid hugs him almost crushingly in greeting, and immediately decides they’re going for lunch at her favourite restaurant. He is amazed in a good way at how easy it is with her; they can pick up as if it hasn’t been months of just messages and the occasional short call, as if he’d only knocked on her door yesterday. 

“I have something to tell you,” she says suddenly, in a tone which has his attention. 

In a movement so uncharacteristic for his friend, she looks around the room, and smiles a different type of smile, then pulls back her sleeve. There, across her wrist is the word ‘empower.’

It’s the second time he’s seen soulmarks come to fruition, but this time it makes his eyes well on instant. He grips her hand tightly, and Ingrid laughs as he raises his head to look at her. 

“It literally happened last week,” she says, anticipating the question before he can even speak. She twines his fingers with his, squeezing them once. 

“It’s...well, it’s strange, I suppose. All that time of my father trying to make sure I made a good match and it turns out to be my first boyfriend-” 

“Wait, you have a boyfriend and didn’t tell me?” Sylvain says, voice a little louder than intended, Ingrid glaring. 

“I wanted to tell you in person, Sylvain. And I knew you were visiting. We’ve been dating for less than two months and then this happened. Plus, it’s...odd. He doesn’t have a soulmark.” 

“What? How is that possible?” he says. 

“Don’t ask me, I’ve never understood how these things work. But it is. And it’s...intense, so early on to find this out, but I guess we just have to see what happens,” she says, and although he can see in her face the surprise at this all but he can hear the happiness in her voice. And really, that’s all he cares about. 

It seems that everyone’s love life is working out this week, for he gets a phone call of almost unintelligible shrieking as he gets ready to head back to Garreg Mach, of Bernie eventually managing to tell him she had a date with Lindhardt. He starts attempting to give her advice but can’t stop laughing when she dissolves into more screams at his, admittedly deliberate inappropriate questions, and ends the conversations by just telling her to be herself, even if she responded with ‘really?’

It’s a strange drive back. He feels buzzed, on edge even, and his fingers can’t stop tapping on the steering wheel as he beats the traffic on his way back. He switches radio stations several times, can’t seem to find something he wants to listen to, mind not focusing on songs he’d normally enjoy. 

The feeling doesn’t leave as he arrives. It’s dark, but not so late he can’t go out, but everyone is busy; Dorothea already having plans to see a show and Mercie isn’t coming back until tomorrow, as are most of his classmates. 

Doesn’t stop him though. Sure, it’s better with company but he can still find new friends to have fun with. He takes three shots of vodka from the half empty bottle in his room before swinging on a new jacket and leaving without another word. 

He just needs to go. Get out, leave, run with this restless energy that started with meeting his future wife, grew more seeing Felix and culminated with learning Ingrid has found her soulmate. There’s now much circling in his head, and he’s chatting to a woman with perfectly formed dark curls, then a guy with a buzz cut and then-

It’s hard, with hindsight, to piece it together. A flash and a crash, pain in his side and metal in his mouth. Lights bright in neon starstrikes, a lot of loud noise and stomach whirling the whole time. It’s a dizzying, worrying sensation with the moments that do not exist and those that do, a clear sentiment of ‘this is bad’ flickering through the entire experience. 

It becomes clearer as he’s stepping out a bus somewhere in town, immediately falling on the ground, a familiar voice by his side. Then he’s walking down dorm corridors, slamming into walls on his way, limbs entirely uncontrollable as he tries to get himself back to safety. Except he’s not safe, not really, as the damage is already done. 

He’s definitely sick, most likely several times by the memories he has, but he can’t be sure if it’s just one time of his throat burning, stomach cramping as he hangs over the toilet unable to do anything but bring up ethanol. He sleeps or most likely just passes out under his body's inability to keep going in this state. 

He cries too. He knows that well. 

When he wakes up, it’s light out, and the criss-cross of unlit fairy lights combined with the army of teddy bears facing him tells him he’s not in his own room, but in Bernie’s. He blinks, the pounding of his head and the fuzziness in his mouth making it hard for him to form any thought other than how hideous he feels. 

“You’re awake.” 

He turns slowly, seeing Bernadetta sitting at her desk, fully dressed and laptop open. He swallows and grimaces at the way it burns. 

“Yeah. Hey, Bernie,” he says, words scratching out. 

“Hey, Sylvain. How do you feel?” she asks, standing up and moving over to him, handing over a bottle of unopened water. 

He struggles up on her pillows, grimacing at how long it takes him to open the bottle, relief at the cool liquid soothing his senses despite the way his stomach protests at even water. He caps the bottle, puts it on her bedside table as she comes to sit on the floor near him. She takes his hand, and as she does the feel of her smaller fingers in his makes his eyes fill, and his muscles clench. 

She inhales once, and doesn’t let go of his hand. “I used to get asked this lot when I was...before. So I’m sorry if you’ve had it too but sometimes it’s just easier than explaining but...on a scale of one to ten, how bad is it right now?” she says, her own voice shaking as she speaks. 

And Sylvain knows she’s not talking about the hangover. His jaw locks down, his mind strings together phrases and grabs at his mask to plaster on the same old excuse and answer he can always recite. 

But he’s so tired. He’s dragged himself through this so many times and he just can’t do it. Any of it. Any single thing on this earth is just too much trouble and if it would all just collapse in one itself with the next breath, he wouldn’t argue or try to fight his way out. 

That thought isn’t frightening. It’s relieving. And he’s not scared about that either. 

Yet his parched lips part enough to answer. “I think...I passed ten a long time ago,” he whispers to the ceiling. 

Bernadetta hugs him. Sylvain closes his eyes and clings back at her warmth through the numbness which is spreading through his limbs. His eyes sting, he feels himself choke but Bernadetta doesn’t let go, doesn’t let him pull away as he would normally do. 

“I don’t...I don’t want this,” he says, and he can’t actually articulate what he it is he doesn’t want because there’s too many parts of himself he’s begging to amputate. 

At the words Bernie does pull back, but just enough to look him in the eye. 

“There are people who can help, Sylvain. I-I wouldn't say this if I didn’t know it. If that’s what you want,” she says slowly, giving him an out. They can chalk this up to a drunken mishap, a bad night and a rough morning. 

Yet. That spark that made him come here, that allowed him to meet his friends and work hard for something he wants. That makes him refuse to comply in small ways when the world produces only one answer. 

Maybe he wants to defy again. Defy this feeling which makes him want to stop his entire world from turning permanently. Run against the current of his own feelings and challenge the thoughts which make him stop being able to sleep and breathe. Maybe, he wants to fight. 

“I want,” he says. 

Which is completely, and utterly, the truth. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know that one may be a tough ride for some, but I'm glad to say that officially: it only goes up from here. 
> 
> Three more chapters to go! And number 8 coming very soon.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You look like you want to hug me,” Sylvain says before he can stop himself. 
> 
> Felix blinks. “No I don't,” he says, and he sounds like he’s ten again, which ultimately makes Sylvain reply like he’s twelve. 
> 
> “Just a little one? It’s cold, Felix, we need body heat!” he says and Felix steps away. 
> 
> “Then we go inside, idiot,” he snaps with no heat and Sylvain laughs again, falling into step.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone still supporting this story! You all are wonderful. 
> 
> Audrey, my fantastic friend and beta, thank you again for looking through this story <3 Oh, and she told me she cried at this chapter. Just...warning you all. 
> 
> Enjoy!

Sylvain drums his fingers in a nervous gesture as the woman before him scans her computer, face so perfectly blank he cannot tell if he’s a lost cause. The room is eerily silent, Seteth’s office placed in a part of the school where the insulation appears to be particularly effective, for he cannot even tell it’s the middle of the day, students normally running around between classes. 

Byleth looks up, dark blue eyes piercing in a way that makes him nervous, spikes his anxiety up high, but he controls it; can do that now, is getting so much better at handling situations which several months ago would have sent him reeling. 

“I can see why Seteth suggested we meet. Your first year grades took a sharp downturn, but your most recent papers are excellent. You did just about pass your first year in total, but if you’re aiming for a high overall grade, there’s a lot of work to be done,” she says. 

Sylvain knows this, so nods. He inhales, shoulders coming to his ears, then settling again. 

“I know, I’m prepared to work for it. I had...my first year was rough, I’m doing a lot better now but I had some personal issues that made it difficult,” he says. 

Byleth smiles, just a small upward curl of her lips. “I understand. I almost had to drop out completely after my father passed away in my second year. But I’m now a grad student, so I’ve done exactly what you’re trying to do,” she says and Sylvain feels something lift, truly depart at the knowledge this person actually knows what it’s like to have failed so dramatically in their studies but to still want to work it out. 

“Thank you,” he says, although it isn’t the correct response to her statement, it feels like the correct language.

She nods, smile still there, perhaps even slightly brighter. “I’m here to help, and if you ever want another ear, I can always listen,” she says, and although it is only their first meeting, there is something about her demeanour that already has him at ease. Perhaps in time, he will find he can speak to her too. 

“Now, Shamir’s class is where you are struggling the most, I see. I also took that, so we can meet later this week and go through some extra reading which I think may help widen your understanding. Depending on how you go with that, I would suggest some extra work for Seteth’s as well. It’s your best class, so increasing your grades here won’t hurt,” she begins, and together they outline a schedule over the next few weeks. 

Sylvain leaves the office 30 minutes later with the feeling of both relief and nerves crawling up his spine. It’s a lot of work, it was always going to be a lot of work. He had three completely failed final exams last year and literally only passed one class by two marks. There’s a lot of work to be done, but he thinks now he’s in a place where he might be able to do it. It’s also still a work in progress, but he feels more stable and able to focus than he has in months. And that feeling is something he’s hoping will last. 

He makes his way to the usual cafe, then grins when he’s greeted with a wave, clocking the group of four sitting on the sofas near the back, entire table covered in a mess of papers, books and laptops. He makes his way to the counter, and Petra smiles as he does. 

“Hi Sylvain, will you be having your normal?” she asks and he nods, paying with his card and making his way over to the table. 

“How was the meeting?” Dorothea states without preamble, Bernie giving her a wide eyed look, but he grins. 

“Good, although my reading list is kinda terrifying,” he says. 

“May I take a look?” Linhardt asks, and he hands it over. It only takes him a few moments to scan the page before he nods and hands them back. 

“I can make sure you get them, and for longer than the usual time,” he says, and Sylvain grins. 

“You would be a lifesaver if so, thanks man,” he says. 

Linhardt yawns and nods, burrowing down on the sofa, leaning slightly onto Bernadetta’s shoulder as he goes. She turns and smiles softly, which makes Sylvain automatically lock eyes with Dorothea, both making twin expressions of disgust. 

“Here you go, Sylvain. Let me know when you want another,” Petra says suddenly, appearing over his shoulder with coffee. 

“Thanks Petra, my hero,” he replies, and she laughs, before pressing a kiss to Dorothea’s head as she heads back to work. 

Dorothea blushes right to the roots of her hair, and Sylvain makes the disgusted expression once more. 

“You are not allowed to be dismayed at PDA anymore, Mercie and I are the only ones who can do that,” he says

“I can still be disgusted at those two,” Dorothea replies, waving her hand at Bernie and the now softly snoring Lin. 

Mercedes laughs, looking up from her laptop for the first time. “I think you’re all adorable though,” she says, and Sylvain grabs onto his chest dramatically, which causes her to laugh harder. 

“What about the guy who gave you his number last week? You two seemed to get along,” Dorothea asks, leaning forward. 

Sylvain isn’t surprised this has come up. He feels his insides curl a little as a vague, new concern stretches and makes itself known, something it’s been doing fairly frequently of late. 

“Yeah we did, he’s nice. I’m just not there yet,” he explains. 

Dorothea smiles, no pity, just pure understanding. Next to him, Bernie slides her hand closer to his, bumping her hand with his. 

“Everything in it’s own time, Sylvain,” Mercie says, steady and soft, belief ringing in every word. 

The conversation moves on from there naturally, and Sylvain basks in the warmth of acceptance and routine, all of them studying with varying degrees of effort, Dorothea on one end constantly tapping away slowly, while Lin naps for an hour, then awakens and types in a fluffy of energy rarely witnessed. 

They separate when Petra’s shift comes to an end, Dorothea and her leaving together, and the rest pack up. Lin kisses Bernie goodbye then stumbles off home while the three of them make their way to Sylvain’s car. 

It was Mercie’s idea for them to live together. Sylvain hadn’t really been in a place to decide anything, so when the need to plan second year housing came up, Mercie organised everything, quickly asking Bernie if she wanted to join them. Dorothea decided to live with other friends on her theatre course as their schedules would work better for performance times, but she’s practically walking distance so they all still see each other often. 

They work well as roommates, especially as Sylvain’s habits are now different than before. Mercie has the most classes but always makes time for them to spend time together, and her gentle manner plus Sylvain’s persuasion makes sure Bernie joins them for joint movie nights, and doesn’t fall back into isolation. Mercie’s stubbornness and Bernadetta’s ability to connect with Sylvain means he doesn’t get too absorbed in reading and his own perceived standards, while both he and Bernadetta ensure Mercie gets enough rest. 

Having studied all afternoon, the three give up on doing more work and just scrape together something for dinner, Sylvain taking over in the end to make sure it’s entirely edible. At 7pm his phone alarm blares and he hands the wooden spoon over to Mercie, confident that at least for five minutes she can take care of the pot. 

He runs upstairs, walks to his dresser and grabs the pills. He takes it dry, one quick swallow and feels it go down, all the way to his chest. Of course it’s not an instant hit, not a sudden marvel of clarity and health, but over the six weeks he’s been taking this particular medication, he’s felt clearer. Focus back, sleep a little longer, the panic somewhat dimmer. So he’ll set alarms and make routines so he remembers to take them and work his way towards a constant better. 

He puts the packet back, smiles to himself and goes back to having dinner with his friends. 

* * *

His father is busier than ever, and doesn’t seem to want to meet with Sylvain other than to discuss marriage proposals or his finance career, which means they literally only speak every few months. He avoided him over the summer by travelling, and only returned once near the end of it. This time, as he comes back in the winter, his house is empty apart from a few staff who come in and out. His father will be back later this evening though, so he relishes the few hours of alone time he has. 

He’d been better near the end of summer, but still somewhat numb and hazy, to not really recalling much of the visit, but he’d only stayed four days. Which means over the past eight months, he’s not seen his three best friends. He’d stayed in touch as best he could, not telling them precisely what was happening, as it hadn’t been something he’d been ready to say, but they all know he’s been ill and busy keeping up with classes. 

He doesn’t, therefore, really know how it’s going to be when he comes back for the huge joint birthday celebration the three of them have in January. He’s not sure if it was at the request of them or their parents, but seeing as all three turn eighteen between December and February, they decided to one huge gathering, rather than three in sequence. 

A year ago, Sylvain would have pushed past any nervousness and placed his mask of confidence on with a heavy ease that marked his life until then. Now, he’s raw and shaking a little as he arrives at Dimitri’s place, his car joining the never-ending stream of ones parked in the drive, the great and the good all here to celebrate. 

It takes him ten minutes of sitting in his car before he can leave. Deep breathing, one of the three mantras he’s found work as a method of dealing with anxiety, and clenching and unclenching his toes, before he’s ready to give this a go. Then it’s just a case of almost running to the door after grabbing the three gifts for his friends, going straight inside before the bubbles of arguments as to why he should leave surface. 

It’s a glamorous affair, and it sends him right back to his childhood of attending his own parties set up for the benefit of adults, the vast majority of people he can see at first glance all over the age 30. There’s a table for gifts by the door, almost like a wedding reception, which he adds his gifts to, checking they’re labelled correctly, before moving inside fully. It’s a formal party, and he tugs his dark red jacket closer around his chest, hoping no one notices he’s actually wearing jeans. 

“Sylvain!” 

He turns, a second after entering and just manages to catch Ingrid as she hugs him tightly around the neck. She’s in a long silver jacket and a white polo neck, a thin silver necklace, the only jewellery and, to his relief, wearing jeans too. 

“I’ve missed you, I’m so happy you’re here,” she says, and he hugs her back just as tightly. 

“Missed you too, sorry it’s been so long,” he says, but she shakes her head. 

“You were sick, it’s fine. Plus it’s been so busy I haven’t been anywhere this year. One more year to go,” she says with a groan and he laughs. 

She walks swiftly with purpose he’s about to question when they turn away from the main ballroom and round to the music room. There are a few guests here, noticeably younger than anyone he’s seen, and Ingrid waves at someone before pulling him along and to a stop by the window, where a guy with silver hair smiles, if a little nervously. 

“Sylvain, this is Ashe,” Ingrid says, a hint of excitement in her voice. 

Sylvain smiles widely; so after almost a year he gets to her boyfriend, her soulmate. 

At the thought, Sylvain’s fingers itch to touch his arm, but he just about resists the urge, focusing instead on the person before him. 

“Hey, pleasure to finally meet you,” he says, as Ingrid’s eyes narrow. 

Ashe chuckles, the nerves from his face not transported into his voice. “And I’ve heard much about you, it’s great to meet you,” he says, and the words feel so genuine that Sylvain immediately finds himself liking Ashe. 

“I don’t think Ingrid’s been telling the right stories then,” he says, and she elbows him sharply in the side. 

“Oh believe me, he knows all about the time you hacked off half my hair, and the day you Dimitri had a worm eating competition,” she says, and Sylvain is thrown off for a second as the other two laugh, joining them barely a second later. 

“Ingrid says you’re enjoying Garreg Mach? I’m going to apply for the Lit course as well,” Ashe says, enthusiasm bright and almost sparkling, and Sylvain knows with a pull of happiness this will be an extended conversation. 

He’s right; they talk initially about the application process, Ingrid joining in as she cannot decide between there and Kingdom, but it dissolves into just a conversation about books and writing in general, which Sylvain relishes. This is why he studied what he does, why he’s so determined to carry on and push through. It’s what he loves, what he’s good at. There’s nothing else he’d rather do. 

And following his own desires and ambitions, however small, is his top, new found priority. It’s the main steps he’s taking, working on with his therapist. Sorting out who he is and what he needs or wants from every angle. 

Ingrid gives his arm a squeeze as they move into the main room for toasts a while later. 

“Thank you,” she whispers, and he shakes his head. 

“Nothing to thank, he’s nice. I’m happy for you,” he whispers back, and then nudges her just that bit too hard, sending her almost off balance, Ashe giving them mortified looks when they try to have a mini wrestling match among crowds of guests. 

Ingrid moves towards the centre of the room though, and it’s just as a hush falls over that Sylvain sees his other two oldest friends for the first time that evening. 

Dimitri looks a little uncomfortable under the attention, but also grand in the same way as Lambert, who begins speaking. They both look so alike, although Dimitri’s hair now is almost long enough to start tying back, much like-

Felix. Who looks blankly at the crowd next to Rodrigue, hair braided of all things, the plait almost reminding him of Ingrid’s hair when they were longer. It just about passes down by his shoulder, and it suits him, well enough to make Sylvain’s heart beat double time at how he stands and looks, just _ is _ . 

Sylvain misses him with his very bones, almost telepathically trying to grab his attention.  _ Look this way, see me in a crowd _ , he thinks, a romantic notion. He wasn’t sure how this would go, seeing Felix after all that’s happened since last year, but it’s not the cataclysmic, anxiety inducing sensation he’d feared. It’s exhilarating to be sure, but also comforting. There is always something soothing about the normality of being near Felix, always has been. He cannot put a name on that emotion or give a reason for its appearance.

He doesn’t really listen to the speeches, short as they are, as his three friends stand in various stages of uncomfortableness or boredom while as per usual their parents celebrate them, caring, he thinks: even if it’s not quite in the way their children want to be cared for. 

He claps though, then isn’t able to keep himself from whistling loudly once, which makes Dimitri look around in the opposite direction, Ingrid unsubtly roll her eyes and Felix frown before looking in Sylvain’s direction. Their eyes do not meet, for this is reality and Sylvain is too far back to genuinely be seen, but it does give him a flickering warmth which spreads to his extremities. Next to him, Ashe laughs under his breath as people around him turn to look disapprovingly, only to look away when they realise who he is. 

“Food? Looks like they’ll be occupied for a while,” he says to Ashe as the crowd disperses and several people immediately march forward. 

“Good idea,” he agrees, and the two make their way to the opposite side of the room, although unfortunately not quite in time. 

“Did you have to make a scene?” 

Sylvain, to his credit, doesn’t jump at his father’s voice but he does feel all the light drain away, replaced with a creeping fog of nerves in his gut. 

“Just showing my appreciation for my friends. How was your flight?” he asks politely as Ashe stands a few feet away, obviously unsure what to do. 

“Fine. I must speak with Rodrigue, but come to my office tomorrow at 9am before you leave,” he says, and spins on his heel and walks away into the crowd, not bothering to wait for an answer. 

Sylvain feels a chain around his chest loosen, but only loosen. He’ll leave as soon as he can after that encounter then, not much else he can do. At least though, this means his father won’t darken the rest of the evening. He quickly grabs a plate and piles it with various things he doesn’t actually register picking up, meaning he has a very random assortment of food when he and Ashe find a corner to loiter in. 

They’ve just about finished eating when Ingrid and Dimitri return. Ingrid immediately puts her head on Ashe’s shoulder, grumbling about meeting various people, while Dimitri beelines for Sylvain. 

“I’m very glad to see you,” he says and Sylvain smiles, clapping him on the back. 

“You too, happy birthday,” he says and Dimitri nods in acceptance. 

“Thank you. I was hoping we might...talk actually,” he says, drawing closer to almost whisper the words and causing Sylvain to frown. 

“Sure, lead the way,” he says, and Dimitri looks relieved. He leads them through the house and away from the crowds, memories stirring as Sylvain walks. The vase Dimitri once broke used to stand on that pedestal; Ingrid once bested them at hide and seek by climbing into that cupboard over the door; this corridor is where Felix slipped and lost his front baby tooth in a floor of blood and tears.

They reach the conservatory, far enough away to not be used by any guests in the politeness of essentially being off limits without having to say so with this crowd. It’s another area he’s been in many times, having studied here as they all became old enough not to need to run riot every ten minutes. 

There are cream sofas, so Sylvain takes a seat, taking the lead again as if they were children once more, and just as in the past Dimitri follows and sits beside him. For a second it’s awkward, and then both look away with almost tandem nervous barks of laughter. It’s another moment showing Sylvain how much has changed; his mask is smashed and gone, he can no longer put up a front. 

“I wanted to...apologize,” Dimitri starts, and Sylvain’s worries turn to confusion. 

“For what?” he says. 

Dimitri leans back, crossing his arms over his chest. He looks tired, Sylvain notes. He remembers how awful his last year of school was, in some ways worse than university. But the shadows that mar Dimitri’s face are concerning, even when he smiles through. 

“I have not been a good friend these past few years. To anyone, but especially to you and Ingrid. I haven’t kept in touch well, haven’t tried as I should. She didn’t tell me about Ashe, and when you were sick, I just...I suppose I realised then, how much I’d let myself vanish into my own head,” he says, not looking at Sylvain as he speaks. 

Sylvain lets the moment settle, allows Dimitri space and hopes the silence is well meaning as he collects his thoughts. 

“I don’t blame you. I’m not angry. I’ve missed you, I missed you when I still lived here, but it’s not been easy on any of us. We try to handle a lot of things and sometimes they’re too much to carry. Sometimes our heads are safer places,” he says as an offering. 

Dimitri laughs grimly. “The problem is, my head isn’t safe at all,” he says, voice a tone much sharper than his usual voice, the one he recalls from outside his exam rooms, from that one dinner he zoned out of years ago. Except now, it has more meaning. 

Sylvain swallows. Honesty, he reminds himself, is an important gift. He can and should share when he wants to. 

“I almost failed my first year because my own head became too dangerous to be in. So I get that, man. And...I’m here, ya know” he says, unsure how to phrase that last part, unsure if it’s wanted or needed. 

Dimitri stares, eyes wide and Sylvain’s fingers twitch. 

“How are you doing?” Dimitri asks slowly, and Sylvain smiles. 

“Getting there. Day by day. Minute by minute,” he says, and Dimitri manages a smile then. 

They sit once more in silence, no longer awkward but not quite at ease. 

“I’ve missed you too,” Dimitri says, so quietly. 

Sylvain’s being seems to shake, twist a little and he shuffles forward to bring Dimitri into a hug. Dimitri clings back, grip bruising leaving Sylvain without breath, but he doesn’t let go. Their friendship is strange, in the blank spaces between time, where they aren’t in an orbit or even sharing space. But they haven’t grown away; just differently, with potential and pathways to return and intertwine, with some effort and time. A lot of things, Sylvain is realising, can start to mend with effort and time. 

They pull back and Sylvain winks, Dimitri laughs and it feels like a return, something old and new in the same moment. Sylvain doesn’t push regarding his mind, and Dimitri doesn’t offer any further information. But that’s fine; Sylvain hopes that if he needs or when he needs he’ll say. For now, it’s enough. 

Dimitri fills him in on his plans, mentions his new half sister who is here somewhere tonight. They get on, it seems, even if it’s strange for both of them. El is a year older and already at University so they haven’t spent much time together. Sylvain tells him about his friends, his classes, and they make their way back to the party. 

Sylvain though, feels the press and sway of the too many people far more keenly than he had before, so opts to go outside. Dimitri waves him in the direction of the patio to the other-side of the house, again too far for anyone other than those who really know the family to venture. 

He steps outside, and finds he’s not the only one there. The garden is illuminated despite how no one is really going to step outside in such freezing air, fairy lights and precisely placed artificial candles dotted between foliage and highlighting the huge garden mirror. All glow with a slightly blue tone to their white light, mixing with the frost which is already settling and the clouds created with his breath means it feels as if he’s walked into one of the fantasy books he read as a child. 

And with his back to him, is Felix. 

He can tell by the hunch of his shoulders, the slight favouring of his right leg, even before he turns slowly at the sound of the door. If he is surprised, he doesn’t show it, but turns fully as Sylvain walks to meet him. 

“Needed a time out?” he says, relying on the setting to give him a starting point. 

Felix rolls his eyes. “I spent almost twenty minutes being a pawn for my father before I could escape. Now he can deal with those vultures,” he says, every word so bitter it makes Sylvain’s mouth smart. 

“Always the way right?” he says, as unwittingly his own father’s face comes to mind, their meeting in the morning a flighty thing trapped in his mind, composed of fear and dread. But he locks it away for now, just for now, so he can cope with it a little at a time in the right space. 

Felix makes a noise of agreement, but says nothing, not looking at Sylvain, staring out at the light and frost. Unlike with Dimitri, their silence isn’t filled with awkwardness but with ghosts; memories of a time when they didn’t need words to know one another, when times now are so changed from the relative ease of childhood. Sylvain inhales once, feels the cold burn his lungs as it goes down, and nudges Felix’s shoulder gently. 

“I left your present with all the others, but don’t open it until your actual birthday, okay?” he says. 

“More mittens?” Felix drawls, but Sylvain can hear the smile, even if when he turns Felix’s face is still blank as ever. 

“If you were wearing them now, you wouldn’t need to keep your hands in your pockets,” Sylvain says and Felix turns to face him fully, hands jammed into his pockets and stares back defiantly, the whole stance oddly ridiculous and combative, Sylvain laughs. 

It’s good to be laughing in general, but more so around Felix. 

“They are warm,” Felix says, and Sylvain stops laughing to gasp dramatically. 

“So do you like them, I knew it!” he says, and Felix scowls. 

“I wore them once when I lost my other gloves, don’t misunderstand anything,” Felix states, but there’s a splash of colour across the bridge of his nose and onto his cheeks. It could be the cold, but Sylvain is sure it wasn’t there a moment ago. 

They settle into quiet once more, but now facing one another, Sylvain watching Felix, as Felix watches him. 

“How are you?” Felix says, words stiffer than before. 

It takes Sylvain a moment to choke back platitude, for he knows Felix is asking this for a true answer. 

“Better. I think,” he says. Felix nods, then looks down bringing a hand up to rest on his hair for a moment, then looks back at Sylvain. 

“You told me you were in the hospital a few months ago. But you didn’t say much after,” he says. 

Sylvain stills, body and mind blanking out for a second. He doesn’t remember doing that, which is unsurprising but also a huge concern, for what else could have been said and done in that time? But it’s been months since then, and this is the first anyone has mentioned it, so that would mean he’d only contacted Felix in that haze and terror. 

Of course it was only Felix. But now he must answer the question. 

“Yeah, I had one of those panic attacks. You know, like I used to?” he begins, and Felix gives a short nod. 

“Right, well this one was bad. I...sort of passed out, I couldn’t breathe but in the process I slammed my head on a desk as I fell. I needed stitches and had a bad concussion but well...I guess even hitting your head that hard doesn’t mean the reason you panicked goes away,” he laughs, he still isn’t good at this part, wants to make reality a lighter than it is. 

But Felix’s eyes are wide and his mouth slightly open and Sylvain absently itches his arm, unsure but finishes the story. 

“So I stayed a bit longer. Less than a week. I’m sorry I didn’t...couldn’t explain at the time,” he says. 

Felix seems to snap out of it at that, shaking his head rapidly. 

“No, you don’t need to apologize, don’t do that. Not for...not for this,” he says, and Sylvain’s heart does something strange, pulls in different directions which causes his eyes to mist, blinking back a potential of tears while his mouth turns upward. 

Acceptance. No challenge, no demand for more, no questioning the severity or ultimately disgusted. Just concern and acceptance of what happened. It’s a lot, and he swallows, rubbing the back of his neck. Felix steps a little closer, so many emotions that Sylvain has never been good at identifying rushing across his face. He doesn’t seem to know what to do with his arms either, they sort of rise and fall in sequence. 

“You look like you want to hug me,” Sylvain says before he can stop himself. 

Felix blinks. “No I don't,” he says, and he sounds like he’s ten again, which ultimately makes Sylvain reply like he’s twelve. 

“Just a little one? It’s cold, Felix, we need body heat!” he says and Felix steps away. 

“Then we go inside, idiot,” he snaps with no heat and Sylvain laughs again, falling into step. 

But as they walk he takes a chance and puts an arm lightly around Felix’s shoulders. Felix doesn’t shake him off, perhaps even moves a little closer in the time it takes them to reach the door. 

“I’m glad you’re doing better,” Felix says, almost as a whisper. Sylvain in return squeezes him close once, then let's go as they walk inside. 

The rest of the night is good, a hilariously fun mix of trying to catch up while avoiding talking to anyone who tries to approach them to create a bond with one of their fathers, Ashe bemused by the entire experience. They end up hiding under the stairs at one point, which has Sylvain telling Ashe about the time Felix was it in hide and seek, couldn’t find them and sat upstairs crying, while Ingrid laughs, Dimitri hides his smile and tells him halfheartedly to stop as Felix rages. 

The way they fit now is different, he cannot help but think. Ingrid and he can spend months with barely a few messages exchanged, but meet up and it’s as if no time has passed, yet they cannot take it for granted, they need to make sure they don’t just vanish accidentally. With Dimitri, it’s almost like starting again, having somehow dropped each other but trying to pick it up. And with Felix it’s filling in the gaps, the foundations so solid but the bricks on the way up frayed and crumbling, in need of patching up, but all the materials still there. 

Tonight though, feels like a wound knitting together, a reunion with more meaning than just his friends turning a year older. Luckily, when he walks with his father to their respective cars that evening, he’s told their morning meeting cannot take place, but gives Sylvain a date to come home in 2 months time. 

It’s enough to let him ride the high of the weekend back, with nothing to tarnish the memory of seeing his friends again.

* * *

“I called it, I 100% called it, I said you were soulmates!” Dorothea cries, slamming down her beer and Sylvain smiles so hard his cheeks hurt. 

“Congratulations,” Byleth says with a smile. 

She’s a new addition to his friends circle, but a welcome one; she’s actually only a year older than them despite already being a post grad, and having worked with Sylvain on projects for the past few months, they’ve become friends as well as someone he looks to for guidance and advice. 

Bernie turns bright red under the attention, hiding her face in Lin’s neck who smiles and threads his fingers through her hair. It’s not exactly surprising to him either, but considering they’ve been together for almost a year, he is intrigued why the bond manifested this late. 

“Is that unusual? For a...is it bond mark? To happen when you’ve been in a relationship?” Petra asks.

Lindhart straightens. “Not really. Soulbounds have been romanticised to happen at the same moment in media, but that’s actually rarer than bonds taking a while to form. The parts that make the transformation are usually due to a connection between people, so take time. Sure, you get the occasional first glance ones, but we’re on the relatively normal scale,” Lin says, and gives Bernadetta a fond look. 

Sylvain vaguely remembers mention of this at school years before, Mr. Hanneman mentioning the way history was once shaped by marks changing over years rather than instantly turning, which in some ways would make things simpler. 

“Ours did the same, we’ve been friends forever, but it manifested only three years ago,” Mercie says.

“I know someone whose soulmate doesn’t have a mark,” Sylvain chimes in, and Lin’s eyes light up. 

“And it’s a romantic bond? Quite rare. In my studies, I’ve found marks usually manifest between two years and ten years of knowing a person, normally within a few days of one another. Rarer are those that change separately, or those where only one person has a mark. It’s all to do with the manifestation moment. Like any attachment to a person, it grows at different rates for different reasons,” he says.

“So that could technically mean I have a soulmate? That’s so strange. Honestly, I’d never seen marks before I came here, no one I knew growing up had one,” Dorothea says. 

“I was the only one I knew growing up with one too,” Byleth says, to Sylvain’s surprise. 

Seeing his look, she smiles and shrugs off her jacket without an inch of hesitancy. He hears Dorothea gasp and Bernie yelp as Lin moves forward, for it is quite a sight to see. Her mark must cover the entirety of her back; the lines are thick and dark, and he would guess a major mark but he can’t be sure, it doesn’t look quite the same shade as Felix’s does. 

There’s a loop in the centre of her back which carries over her top, two thin waves of it just spiralling up towards her neck, with tendrils reaching across her shoulders. They almost seem to move, flickering a little, much like a flame would. 

_ “Mine burns. Feels like when you touch something too hot.” _

Sylvain sits back as the memory hits him from his thirteenth birthday party. But that's...impossible. Unlikely at best. Just because her mark looks like fire and Dimitri once commented his mark burned doesn’t mean anything. 

Does it?

“That mark is fascinating,” Lin says, and Byleth turns around, putting on her coat. 

“So I’ve been told,” she replies, effectively ending the conversation, but not in an unkind way. 

Dorothea groans. “Lin, no more studying people, especially not when we’re in a bar,” she scolds. 

“I’m not asking to study Byleth, it’s just interesting for my dissertation.” he protests, although Sylvain can imagine Byleth will most certainly be asked more questions soon. 

“Why are you starting on your dissertation a year early? That’s terrifying, don’t do that,” Dorothea says. 

“I definitely need another drink if we’re talking about dissertations,” Mercie announces and Sylvain stands with her. 

“I’ll help, plus I owe Petra for last time,” he says, and she waves him off but he shakes his head and links arms with Mercie as they make their way through the crowd to the bar. 

It will be a wait, but he doesn’t mind, it’s usual for the student bar to be like this most nights. Mercie leans into him, and he grins down at her. 

“I spoke to Annie today,” she begins. 

“How’s she doing? It was a shame she was so sick I couldn’t see her at Felix’s birthday,” he asks. 

“Good, she has her interview here in the next few weeks; she’s so nervous but I bet she’ll do great. Funny you mention the party, she saw Felix on his birthday. I know that was a while ago, but she said something today. I’m not meant to tell but...he cried when he opened your present,” she says, her smile soft and that obviously means Annette told him all about the gift. 

It wasn’t much, but he’d found over the summer more Polaroids from when they were young. He’d started absently collecting them, something to churn away the hours when his mind wasn’t able to focus on anything concrete. So, as well as a more classic present, Sylvain had put together an album for Felix. He’d given a single photo to Dimitri and Ingrid in frames, but he’d found more of Felix than the rest, so he got the bulk of them. 

Just small moments. Felix reading, curled up with Glenn. The time Rodrigue tried to teach them how to fish and Dimitri fell in the lake, dragging Felix with him. Sylvain braiding Felix’s hair, all four of them dressing up to play knights and dragons. Many with Sylvain holding Felix’s hand, helping him along when they were playing games or exploring in places where he wanted security.

“I’m glad he liked it,” Sylvain says, and it feels odd to have such serenity and comfort in a dim lit, loud bar with his shoes sticking to the floor. He’d been sent a thank you message of course, but hadn’t any idea of how much Felix had appreciated the gift. 

He can feel Mercie looks at him, so he turns and sighs at the look. 

“What?” he says, although he absolutely knows. 

“It was very sweet. Incredibly sweet actually, combined with sponsoring a cheetah cub and a replica sword from his favourite book...Sylvain. Really, are you going to keep going like this?” she says. 

He looks forward at the crowd then moves them into an empty spot, still aiming to get to the bar although his thoughts are now elsewhere. Mercie is waiting though, is always there and waiting for him to talk about what he needs, what he’s able to piece together in words. 

“I’m not sure. It’s...you know I care about him but I’m not sure it’s...I don’t know if I’m ready to go there yet. I’m only just starting to work out what I’m doing in general and I’m still not thinking about dating anyone so-” 

“Sylvain,” Mercie says, moving their arms so she can grip his hand instead of his arm. “It’s okay to take your time. You’re working through so many things, and I’m proud of you, we’re all proud of you. But these actions are showing your cards, whether your logical mind wants to or not. All I’m saying is, it’s worth taking the time to think about it. It’s been nearly three years since you cried about him in my bathroom after all,” she says and Sylvain groans as they move to the bar. 

“You know too many of my worst secrets,” he complains as they rest their arms on the tacky bar, trying to gain attention. 

“Means you can’t get rid of me,” she says with a laugh. 

“As if I’d ever try,” he replies, conversation halting there as they are served. 

The rest of the evening goes how most of their evenings do; a mix of disastrous stories, commiserations on the looming exams and more exciting plans of what they’ll do with the promise of warmer weather in the air. 

As they call it a night, Lin comes back with them, hugs all around before they part ways. As he draws Byleth close, she holds onto him a little longer. 

“Well done. You’ve come far,” she says, and he has to stem the urge to tear up. She has this way of just knowing when he’s doubting or contemplating. He hopes he is as good a friend to her as she is to him. 

As he tries to sleep, his mind revolves around the discussions of the evening. In the strange time between late night and early morning he thinks it must be possible for Byleth and Dimitri to be soulmates. Could he introduce them? Perhaps. Ingrid has found her soulmate, and Felix…

His mark has been realised for years, but he’s never mentioned who they are, nor has Dimitri or Ingrid ever commented. It must be platonic or familial, which causes a warmth to spread through Sylvain. He hopes that’s the case, that when they both had their bonding moment it helps Felix through the times Sylvain hasn’t been there. Still, he’s a little sad he’s never met them. Even at Felix’s eighteenth birthday, they weren’t there. Unless they were and Felix is keeping it to himself. It was months before he introduced Annette, his best friend, to them. It would be in keeping with his behaviour. 

Then, there is his own mark. 

His skin is bare right now, but it’s almost as if he can feel it’s afterimage clinging to his skin, written in so deep it’s always there. This isn’t the first time he’s thought about it lately, but it is a strange moment of clarity as something manoeuvres and clicks in place. 

He wants to meet them. 

Long ago, in the aftermath of the well which still hovers in his nightmares, he’d whispered apologies to the mark, thinking they were better off without him, despite still wanting to find them. 

But now, times have changed. 

At sixteen, he hadn’t felt strong; beaten down physically and mentally. He doesn’t blame himself anymore for those feelings. He doesn’t feel the need to don a mask and pretend to become another person, as well as understanding that this was his way of dealing with his own pain; a method of escape to survive. His actions and methods have not always been good, and he has a lot to own up to and reconcile. Which he works on, every day. 

He has always been strong, even when he spent years thinking he was nothing more than a puppet. Sylvain has always had his own thoughts, feelings and more often than he gave himself credit for, acted on them. It’s not a fact that he cannot be true to anyone or anything. He’s made friends, carved his own space in the world and kept moving forward, day by day. His therapist always reminds him to see even the smallest of victories, and he’s trying to do that to the fullest. 

He twists his bare hand around, still on the high of seeing Bernadetta and Linhardt’s marks confirm their feelings. Sylvain knows her enough to understand their relationship isn’t based on the marks; it never has been. Neither has Ingrid’s, or she would never have even found Ashe. 

These are the models he couldn’t see in a childhood where his mark was a ticket to a certain future, a determination of all he should be, and a force of manipulation for his father. Soulmarks exist for a reason but they are, in Sylvain’s new thinking, an addition to something which already exists, not a purpose or drive for nothing. 

He hopes then, he’s able to meet them. To care for them in whatever way he can. He will be sad, perhaps a little disappointed if they never meet, but it isn’t everything. 

He is the master of his own life. And he’s learning to find meaning in himself, day by day.

* * *

Sylvain can still vaguely smell the ocean in his hair if he turns it the right way, despite the fact he last went swimming hours ago. He clings to the memories of a month-long trip to Petra’s hometown by the sea as he drags his bags out of the airport. 

A perfect celebration to the end of their second year. Final results arrived while they were there, and Sylvain had actually cried as he stared at the grades on the screen before him. He’s back up where he needs to be; not perfect, but able to make up for this time last year and means he’s more motivated than ever before to really push in his final year. 

He’s tired, they’d stayed as long as they all could to eek the most out of every second of their trip before he caught his flight with almost no sleep. He yawns his way through the uber ride back to his father’s place. He has a scheduled appointment, so he’s staying for the weekend, collecting more of his belongings and then going back to his place. As he isn’t moving, his contract is valid through the summer, and it’s only a week until classes start anyway. 

This place is not his home anymore. Not that it ever really was. It’s always been the people and the memories of their connections he returns for, and this prompts him to pick up his phone as soon as he’s inside the house. 

“If you’re calling to ask me if I’ve packed, the answer is no and this call isn’t helping.” 

Sylvain laughs, the sound echoing across the hallway. 

“If you want me to give you a ride on Sunday you need to pack now, Ingrid,” he warns, and she makes a frustrated noise down the phone. 

“Seriously, you’ll love it there. I’ll show you guys the best bars,” he says as he picks his way through the house, peeking to see that his father isn’t home yet. Good. 

“Yeah, I’m sure you will,” Ingrid says, but her voice catches. He stands still, frowning. 

“What’s up?” 

She’s silent on the line, then exhales steadily. “I’m just...it’s a big change. Garreg Mach. University. And sure, I know you and Ashe and Annette but...it feels big,” she says, stumbling over sentiments he recalls with strange fondness. 

“It is. It’s totally different and a little scary, but you’re pretty badass yourself. And you’ll be great,” he says, and Ingrid laughs, his heart pulling when he can hear the slight taint of dampness to her voice. 

“I’ll remember you called me a badass. Okay, leave me alone, I need to pack. See you Sunday,” she says. 

“At 10am, I know,” he replies, and ends the call. 

Sylvain wiles away the afternoon by packing up the few things he’ll be taking with him to university for his final year. There’s not much left, so it doesn’t take long. He roams from room to room, anxiety spiking and he has to take moments out, steady himself and pluck different methods from his toolkit to stay steady. He almost thinks of calling his doctor but he doesn’t; they’ve gone through this before, he’s confident on what he’s going to do. Despite it all, he is actually okay. 

Tonight is all he has to deal with and he doesn’t have to do everything at once. Then tomorrow he’s seeing Dimitri and Felix before they head off to Kingdom next week, their term starting later than Garreg Mach’s. So he distracts himself, eats as much dinner as he can stomach until his father walks through the door at just after 9.30pm. 

“Let’s go to my study. And show me your final grades, we need to see where you are,” he says, throwing the comment of his shoulder as Sylvain follows him up the stairs. 

Time seems to have frozen as they go through the same dance; he could be thirteen again trying to prove his worth, but he’s twenty now and knows he doesn’t need to prove anything. His father’s office is the same as ever, barred and large, a room for impressing and intimidating that’s been working for so long. 

He stands, doesn’t sit. His father doesn’t comment, but he doesn’t sit either. Sylvain digs into his pocket, and hands over a print out of his grades. 

His father studies it, huffs and Sylvain braces himself, realises what he’s doing and tries to loosen up. It only moderately works by the time his father looks up. 

“I gave you a pass by not checking your first year grades, but it seems like I should have. Should have known you spent all summer gallivanting around to avoid facing up to your mistakes,” he says, placing the paper down and staring at Sylvain. 

_ I spent last summer getting help to get through a breakdown, _ he thinks but does not say. Instead he taps his fingers on his thigh and meets his father’s eyes. 

“My first year only makes up a fraction of my overall grade. I can still get a first class,” he says, then instantly regrets how it sounds like a defence. 

His father sighs in pure disappointment. “That would be ideal. At least you are unlikely to fail. See that you at least get a high second class honours, or you won’t be accepted into Kingdom’s conversion course,” he says, averting his eyes in a ‘this conversation is over’ motion. 

But Sylvain is not done. 

“I won’t be doing that,” he says. 

His father raises his head so slowly the movement makes his heart beat double time. Sylvain finds himself unable to stay silent. 

“I’m not doing a conversation course. I’m going to do a Masters. Maybe at Kingdom, it has a good programme or I might stay where I am. I’m doing my literature Masters,” he repeats and his father steps around the desk, closer. 

“This is not what we agreed on. You have a duty to this family,” he says, voice rising. 

“I’m going to do my Masters,” is all he says in reply. He’s not about to start rising to the bait of stating exactly where his father can shove his so called family values. And his hands are already shaking because this is enough of a rejection of his old systems to put him on edge. 

His father looks at him, Sylvain now almost exactly his height, a strange square off that will never come to blows. 

“Be careful how much of your life you squander, Sylvain. I’ll not tolerate much more. Get out of my office, I have work to do. I’ll see you in March, we’ll finalise your engagement then. I want you two married early next year.” 

Sylvain wants to throw up, which is his cue to leave. He marches out without a word, a strange thrumming of victory and, as with any conversation with his father, complete failure. But, he is stripping away the control, layer by layer. The terrible part is, his father needs him. Needs him ideally in a specific shape and model but the scandal of having two rebellious sons and no heir is more important to him than almost anything. His business is his life; it’s why his mother left, why they never speak of her. It’s why Miklan disappeared, and why Sylvain is being given some leeway. 

But he’s not an idiot, there is only so much his father will bend. He needs a plan for when this happens. 

Now is not the time, so tries to sleep, starts on some of his class reading and goes for a run the next morning before driving over to see Felix and Dimitri. 

Dimitri is at Felix’s place already, and greets Sylvain with a hug. 

“Please help us decide what we actually need to take with us for University,” he says as a greeting, and Felix’s voice floats through. 

“Stop trying to get Sylvain on your side, you can’t take a fucking chair with you,” Felix yells and Sylvain nearly chokes. 

“Sorry man, a chair probably isn’t a good idea. Dorm rooms are pretty cramped as it is,” he says, patting Dimitri on the shoulder who makes a morose sound. 

“But it’s specifically catered for the best posture. I don’t want to develop back problems,” Dimitri says as they make their way to Felix’s room. 

“That’s the least of your problems, trust me,” Sylvains says with a laugh. 

Felix’s room is disaster incarnate. Sylvain has always veered on the side of meticulousness but Felix is quite frankly messy; he has never really been able to see the merit of having particular order to his belongings, but then add that into moving, and Felix is just existing in chaos. 

There are clothes, books, shoes, his fencing kit and miscellaneous kitchen items strewn around with a suitcase half packed in the middle. Felix stands, glaring at it, hair down today which somehow makes him look more frazzled than he probably is. He looks up as they enter, fixes his gaze on Sylvain. 

“Not a word,” he says and Sylvain holds his hands up in surrender. 

The next few hours are a hilarious disaster of trying to help Felix pack when he insists on not needing said help, Dimitri actually having no idea what to pack causing Felix to explode at him in regular intervals, and Sylvain dodging random items thrown halfheartedly at him when he laughs and does nothing at all. 

Dimitri eventually has to leave, and Sylvain follows him out. When they reach the door, it’s Sylvain’s turn to pull his friend into a hug, Dimitri gripping back just as tightly. 

“I’ll come visit, bring Ingrid with me as well. You can show us all the fun places to go,” he says, and Dimitri laughs into his shoulder. 

“I’ll look forward to it. If you’re not too busy,” he adds, and Sylvain rolls his eyes. 

“I always have time for you guys, just don’t be surprised if I dissolve into rambling about my dissertation topic,” he says, and Dimitri laughs. 

Sylvain nods, then clasps his shoulder. “It’s going to be fine.” 

Dimitri’s eyes swim a little but he leaves with a wave, still put together. Sylvain watches him for a moment, only to turn when he hears footsteps. 

“We’re only going to University, it’s not like we’re off to war,” Felix gripes. 

“It’s a big change though,” Sylain says, although Felix rolls his eyes. 

“We’ll be back here all the time, unfortunately. Do you want something to drink?” he asks, and Sylvain follows him to the kitchen. 

“Your dad giving you a hard time?” he says, guessing this is Felix’s major issue. 

There is silence while Felix grabs glasses and busies himself with fetching drinks. Sylvain sits at the kitchen table, unsure if he’s going to get an answer. So he waits, Felix coming over to the table with two glasses of lemonade, downing half of his in one go. 

“He keeps mentioning Glenn. I’m doing history, nothing like my brother’s art but...Glenn talked about doing Kingdom’s fine art masters when he came back here. But he died before he could. I’m making my own decisions but it still always comes back to Glenn for him,” Felix says, staring out of the window. 

Sylvain itches to take his friend’s hand, but they sit too far away for the movement to be natural. 

“Your dad’s never really worked out how to deal with Glenn dying,” Sylvain says slowly, honestly surprised they are having this conversation. 

Felix laughs, a bitter thing that makes Sylvain’s hair stand on end. “Did any of us?” he says, turning to regard Sylvain. 

He has no answer for that. Does anyone really deal well with losing a son? A brother? A friend? Sylvain thinks there are some attacks that cut too deep to ever become silver lines of flesh, destined to be the scars which ache and pull every day. 

“I suppose not. But there are some ways of coping that are better than others. Believe me, I’d know,” he says, slipping into an old habit of laughing away the truth. 

“You would,” Felix mutters and then pauses, clearly not meaning to say it aloud but the gauntlet is thrown. There’s a stab of pain to Sylvain’s chest, but he breathes through it. 

“Do you have something you want to say?” he says, trying to keep his voice neutral. 

Because he knows by the twisting of the air and the tension in his head that it’s starting. The conversation which has been brewing for years, over so much time and tangled misgivings, there was only so long it could go. 

Felix seems to collect himself, then straightens, facing him head on just as Felix always does. 

“You run away. You don’t cope with anything, you just run and hope it never catches you,” he says and Sylvain knows he shouldn’t be shocked by the stark assessment of his character but it is jarring coming from his best friend.

Sylvain leans back in his chair. “I haven’t run away, Felix. I’m not-” 

“You’ve run as far as you can get from your father. Which I’m not...I get it, but is it actually working? You ran from every girl who didn’t like your break ups rather than doing things properly. And you ran from us when things got difficult,” he says, voice rising then cutting off sharply at the end. 

For once, Sylvain doesn’t need to be a mind reader to understand. 

“And by ‘us’ you mean ‘me,’” Sylvain says and Felix crosses his arms, and says nothing. Which is just-

He starts laughing. It’s a frantic noise and he covers his eyes, closing them against this chasm opening up. 

“That’s it, right there. You lock up, you go on the defensive when it comes to this. You have no problem expressing exasperation or dislike but it’s a constant reading between the lines with you. I have to push to get anything of substance and it’s been like that for years,” he says, all coming spilling out. 

“You haven’t been here for years,” Felix hisses, and Sylvain is moving to angry. 

“And whose fault is that, Felix? Did you ever tell me you wanted me here? That there was any sort of place here if I’d offered? I can’t read your mind,” he says, standing up and Felix stands with him. 

“This coming from you? Who never thinks of how your actions affect others, never has. You just recklessly jump from one thing to the next and don’t look back until one day it crashes down. What the hell do you think I can say?” Felix shouts and Sylvain doesn’t want it to go like this but they are too far down the rabbit hole to stop. 

“Right yes, I don’t think, when your response to all of us has always been verbal abuse. I ran away, fine. But you’ve called me a fool more times than you’ve called me your friend, how do you expect me to take that?” Sylvain says, bitter and tired. 

“You promised,” Felix says, and it catches in his throat so it’s almost a whisper. 

Sylvain closes his eyes, little finger twitching. He looks up and Felix is staring back, pain clear in his eyes. 

“You promised too,” Sylvain whispers in return. 

Neither moves speaks, or even seems to breathe for a second. Sylvain waits, isn’t sure who should break this moment, this impasse, until finally, Felix looks away. 

“I need to pack,” he says, but doesn’t move. 

“Right,” Sylvain says. He stands still for a second, then turns, walks out of the room and leaves. He doesn’t have the strength to look back. 

* * *

“Okay, it’s been two weeks, and this must stop, Sylvain. This is an intervention.”

He looks up, dropping the pen in his hand as Mercie steps before him, ruining the whole sentence by her gentle tone and clasping her hands in front of her in appeal rather than demand. Behind her, Bernie stands nervously by the door, and Lin yawns before moving straight into his bedroom and flopping down on the desk chair. 

“Make yourselves at home, I guess,” Sylvain says, and Mercie marches in, while Bernadetta follows more sedately, closing the door carefully behind her. 

Really, it’s his own fault for leaving it open. 

“Okay, what’s the theme of this intervention. If it’s about the car, Ingrid is lying, and it broke down through natural causes, nothing to do with my driving,” he says as Mercie stands over him. 

She sighs, ignoring his attempt at throwing her off. “There’s something wrong, has been since you came back after the holidays. I’m just worried, we all are. Ingrid is too,” she adds, and Sylvain groans. Having his best friend at University with him certainly has its drawbacks. 

“Byleth said the same thing. We just...there’s no pressure to talk, but we’re here,” Bernie says, and Sylvain tips his head back until it lands against the wall. 

He should have known his friends would notice. The combined power of Mercie and Byleth also means they’d encourage him to talk rather than stew. And the problem is, he wants to talk, he’s just not sure if there are words to articulate what happened at home, and also…

“...I just wasn’t sure if you’d want to listen? I know, I know, I’m just still not used to this...talking thing,” he says, as the three lean forward to protest. 

“Sylvain, we’re your friends, and we want to listen if you want to speak,” Lin says, accurate and precise as ever. 

Sylvain smiles, but it falls flat too soon, the tide of worries creeping in from where he’s been pushing them aside since returning to university. The others wait as he composes himself, then he opens his mouth and lets it all pour forth; the fight with Felix, the explanations of what was said on the day before he came back here. 

“I didn’t mean it, but I guess I did as well. I don’t...I hate fighting with him, but it’s been years and I suppose it was all going to happen one day,” he says, misery clouding every syllable. 

“Fighting is always hard...but you’ve been friends for so long, right? So you probably can make it up?” Bernie says, quick to find a positive solution. 

Mercie though is just looking, no clear expression on her face. Sylvain has to glance away, a strange tingling seeping through his limbs, like a poison starting to take effect. 

“Yeah, and we’ve been through a lot, but...this feels worse,” Sylvain says, causing Bernie’s face to fall. 

Lin taps his hand to his chin, then drops it back to his lap. “Well, what were you hoping would happen? You mentioned feeling upset he never seemed to want you around. So, did you want him to say that?” 

“Yeah? I mean, it would be nice to actually know I was wanted,” he says, words burning. The pure and dull pain of why relationships in any sense had never worked, why he’s not dating-

Dating? Why is he thinking of that? But Lin starts speaking again so he focuses back in the room. 

“Okay, so he wanted you to stay but you wanted him to tell you he wanted you, specifically you to stay, because…” 

Lin fades off and Bernadetta freezes up, eyes widening comically as Linhardt looks as if he’s just figured out a difficult puzzle and Sylvain looks between them, waiting for the sentence to be finished. 

“Because, Sylvain?” Mercie asks, voice so very quiet but she may as well be shouting they can all hear so well. 

And Sylvain’s mouth works before his mind catches up although no sound comes out. There’s a roaring and rushing then a calm, so very serene as if the thoughts in his mind click into an order that has so far been obscure and strange yet so simple and always there. 

Sylvain smiles. Looks at Mercie and smiles. 

“Because I love him.” 

Berndetta makes a half gasp half cut off shriek and Mercie blinks once and just nods. Sylvain’s smile becomes teeth and he says it again, because he finally, finally can. 

“I love him. I’m in love with Felix.” 

It’s not life changing. The world does split in two, his heart doesn’t rocket and birds don’t start singing an anthem just for him. If anything, it’s soothing. A quiet stillness of something that is so fixed within that it doesn’t need the world to change because it’s been his reality for so many years. 

He doesn’t know when he fell in love with Felix. It’s not that type of admittance. It’s just that he hasn’t been ready to truly absorb that until now, and it’s finally the right time for him to think and bask in the love which has been waiting in the wings for his mind to be in a place to receive it. 

It doesn’t however, instantly heal the situation, so Sylvain groans and rests his head in his fingertips, bringing his knees up to his chest, ignoring his friends' varying reactions. 

“But this doesn’t really help, it actually makes things worse really,” he almost whines, then gets distracted by a stray thread on his jumper, trying to pull at the dark strand. He misses, poking his wrist, and grimaces,turning his arm over to catch it. 

Except it’s not a stray thread. There, poking out of his sleeve, almost cutting through his palm is a line of his soulmark. 

Mercie is saying something, but he tunes her out, just staring at the line. It doesn’t move, not for a second, then slowly almost starts vanishing, as if someone is blotting over it, piece by piece. Which he’s never seen before, it’s just there or it isn’t, doesn’t melt and fade away before his eyes, especially when the mark must be large if it’s peeking out of his clothes.

So he fumbles with his sleeve for a second, pushes it up, then lays his hand on his lap. 

For a moment he isn’t sure what he’s seeing. He is correct, the mark is huge, spiralling much of his arm like it had done at Glenn’s funeral all those years ago. But at the same time, it’s diminishing. Piece by piece, line by line, it fades out, replaced by clear skin, but still the centre of the mark remaining. 

He is so focused on the strangeness that he forgets the others are in the room until there’s a sudden crashing of noise, which part of him wants to identify but mostly he is caught up in his soulmark, until he feels a pressure at his back, almost as if someone is hanging onto him. 

“It’s-it’s happening!” someone says, high and frantic and it’s the tone not the words that reveal this is an uncommon occurrence, as the lines disappear until there is just the dislocated circle left. 

And then, those lines move. 

Actually seem to peel away, shake and tremble, and for a deluded second Sylvain thinks they will fly forward and into his face, but they stay on his skin. It must take less than the time to blink for he can’t comprehend the moment, but one second the half circles are moving, and the next they have become letters. 

No, not letters. A word. Where his soulmark had always been, resting just above his wrist, is now a word. 

_ Steadfast.  _

He thinks someone in the room is crying, but all he can do is lift his hand upwards, tilting it around like the very first day it appeared on his skin fourteen years ago. 

Steadfast. Resolute, devoted, faithful. Unchanging and keeping the same purpose, even if that purpose is to remain friends with someone as clearly clueless as Sylvain must be. 

“Felix,” he says, and lifts his eyes to where Mercie and Lin sit before him, Linhardt in clear shock, Mercie crying, and realising now the arms around his neck must be Bernadetta. 

“Felix is my soulmate.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally. 63K words later, the realisation moment. 
> 
> Also um, yes cliffhanger, promise next chapter is coming. Homestretch now. Feels weird, but amazing. 
> 
> Feel free to come yell at me for doing this on: [Twitter](http://www.twitter.com/EnlacingL/)


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Steal a car?” Linhardt offers. 
> 
> All of three of them look at him in various shades of shock. He shrugs, and Sylvain gets the impression he was entirely serious which shifts his impression of Lin but also, at this point, perhaps it’s worth-
> 
> “No,” Mercie’s voice cuts in sternly, and he groans, dropping down onto his bed, face in his hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for supporting this story. And here we are, almost at the end. 
> 
> Thank you so much to the fabulous Audrey for betaing, and being so wonderfully supportive of this story. 
> 
> Enjoy!

“I don’t have my car, how am I gonna get there without a car?” Sylvain yells as he throws a jacket over his shoulders. 

His mind is spiralling, tumbling, only clinging on to the vague impressions of  _ soulmate _ , _ Felix is my soulmate, I have to find Felix.  _

“You know, the trains will restart in...five hours, and it would take you almost three to drive there anyway so…” Bernie trails off when Sylvain just looks at her, eyes wild. 

“And then it will take even longer by train so...no, I can’t wait that long,” he says, beginning to pace up and down. 

If he could teleport, he would, but so far he’s stuck with the normal methods of transport, none of which are on offer at half past midnight on a Tuesday. The rental place opens at 7am, which is currently his best option, but that still doesn’t feel right. 

Just because his love for Felix has been quiet doesn’t mean he can’t do something dramatic now he’s finally in a place to admit what’s happening. Especially with the added layer of being Soulmates. 

“Steal a car?” Linhardt offers. 

All of three of them look at him in various shades of shock. He shrugs, and Sylvain gets the impression he was entirely serious which shifts his impression of Lin but also, at this point, perhaps it’s worth-

“No,” Mercie’s voice cuts in sternly, and he groans, dropping down onto his bed, face in his hands. 

He absolutely can’t stay here. He can’t just sit still with this incredible occurrence, plus he has a huge apology to make, a confession to give the person he’s loved almost his entire life, and there are so many things they need to talk about. He’s not sure what will happen if he has to spend the next seven hours alone with his thoughts; if he’ll start talking himself out of it, questioning, doubting. He needs, for once, to run with this feeling, return back to the person who has always been there. 

Steadfast. Unwavering. A truer word could not have been given. 

The bed dips, and by the sigh he knows it’s Mercie. She wraps her arm around him and he falls to the side, hands lowering while Bernie and Lin look back at him with twin gazes of empathy. 

“I wish I had a car you could borrow,” Mercie says, and the other two nod in solidarity. 

Sylvain hums; it is unfortunate none of his friends can-

Wait. There is one person he knows with a car. 

* * *

Ashe doesn’t look pleased to see him, which is understandable, so Sylvain is just glad he’s awake, and answered the door. 

“Sylvain, do you know what time it is?” he says, and Sylvain nods. 

“12:40. You're a first year Ashe, how are you tired? 3am is an early night,” he says. 

Ashe gives him what can only be described as death glare, one Sylvain did not think such a kind face could give. Memo to self, do not interrupt Ashe’s sleep schedule. 

“Okay, I need a favour. Could I please borrow your car. Now,” he says, and Ashe’s eyes widen. 

“You want to use my car in the middle of the night?” he says, taking each word slowly, as if fitting them together will produce a more logical answer. 

“Please? I’ll pay for the insurance, I’ll return it with a full tank, I promise I’ll drive carefully. Mine’s in the shop, and I need to get to Kingdom Uni tonight,” he says, stepping forward with his words, the urgency thumbing through. 

Ashe however, seems doubtful. “Kingdom is a long drive, Sylvain, and I need the car this week. Do you really have to go now? My insurance company needs two days to process any new drivers, I can’t add you to mine,” he says. 

Sylvain closes his eyes, an avalanche of disappointment falling on his shoulders. It would be this way, his mind finally settling into his feelings for Felix in the middle of the night when he can’t possibly reach him. Perhaps he does need to get himself in line, sleep on this and call Felix first thing in the morning. Work out what to say, try and frame this more logically, work out-

“Fine, I’ll drive you.” 

His eyes snap open. Ashe rolls his eyes, but smiles, kind and reassuring, setting his nerves back to flat from where they’d spiraled upwards. 

“This is clearly important. So, I’ll drive you. I have a friend at Kingdom, hopefully I can crash with him. I’ll call, and meet you in the parking lot in fifteen?” he asks. 

Sylvain dives forward and hugs him. Ashe chuckles, patting his back gently. 

“You’re a great friend,” Sylvain says, voice cotton wool thick as his hopes start to rise. He will see Felix in a few hours, he can share this moment, this realisation with the person he loves. 

“So are you, Sylvain. Which is why you’re gonna pay for gas, and buy me a coffee,” he says, and Sylvain laughs, agreeing readily. 

He sprints off while Ashe calls his friend, running back through the night to his house. He shouts out in victory to his friends, who are waiting by the entrance, before grabbing a bag, stuffing random objects into it and then heading back to the door. 

He’s almost drowned in hugs from the three of them before he can get there. He feels the constricting of his throat once again; his life has transformed so much since the lonely days of childhood he couldn’t bring himself to run from. He is lucky and ever so grateful for these people who are better than family. In fact, that’s what they are: family. For it is a thing which is made rather than born into. He knows this now. 

“Call us, text us, keep us updated,” Bernie demands. 

“You’ll do fine, I’m so happy for you,” Mercie says, kissing his cheek. 

“Get there safe,” Lin adds and then with one last group hug and a wave, he’s running out the door. 

By the time he reaches the parking lot, he's out of breath and slightly giddy on the adrenaline high of these new developments, which is his excuse for not initially noticing the second person standing by Ashe’s car. 

He slows and internally groans as his mind catches up, and Ingrid comes into view, leaning against the passenger door. 

“Why exactly do you need to suddenly drive to Kingdom? What’s going on?” she demands as he arrives. 

Sylvain exhales, running a hand through his slightly sweaty hair. “I need to see Felix,” he says.

While the others know, there was no way of helping that, but he’d like to avoid telling anyone else before he speaks to Felix. Which of course makes this somewhat unreasonable request difficult. 

Ingrid stares at him; silent, appraising. Sylvain looks back, reminding himself of that time so long ago when he’d begged his friends to see through his charade, know who he was. Of course they failed, his mask was so good then, a perfect actor in his role of the brazen flirt. 

Time’s past but he’s still not quite who he wants to be, not as transparent in the places and for the people that matter, still struggling with accepting and displaying what he wants. So he’s aware this is an exercise in futility. Ingrid sighs, and he braces himself, then starts as she turns away and opens the car door. 

“I’m riding shotgun, I don’t care if you claim your legs are too long for the back, you insist on stupidity, you pay the price,” she says. 

“What?” he replies, and Ingrid turns back, Ashe looking over from where he’s been poised in the driver's seat while they talked. 

“It’s important, so let’s go. And yes I’m coming, I don’t know what this plan of yours is but someone has to keep you out of trouble,” she says, then slides in. 

Sylvain follows suit, buckling up as Ashe starts the car. “You have literally never kept me out of trouble. You were mostly my co-conspirator of trouble,” he grumbles, and Ingrid turns in her seat, flashing him a grin. 

“Then count this as another one of those times,” she says, and he laughs, Ashe joining them as they make their way into the night. 

He’s fine for a while. He distracts himself by deliberately putting his phone in his pocket so he can’t be tempted to look at the time every few minutes, just watching the way the world passes in flashes of bright colours on empty streets, the soothing hum of the radio keeping the mood light. 

But that lasts for about forty minutes. Because they still aren’t making progress. It’s past one AM and they’ve only just left the city. Ashe drives like he’s taking his test, slowing for every light despite there being no one on the road. At first he lets it go, but soon his leg is shaking with his need for them to go faster, get to Felix now, as if every second they aren’t travelling is a moment of potential he’s losing. 

It’s as he utters another huff of impatience that Ingrid finally turns around. 

“What?” she says, tone dangerous but Sylvain is used to that. 

“Ya know speed limits are just guidelines,” he says. 

“No, they are the law,” Ashe replies as he drives at exactly the national speed limit in the slow lane. Sylvain groans. 

“What did I say? You want to drive all the way to Kingdom, it’s gonna take time, Sylvain,” she says, and it’s clear she’s getting tired from how grumpy she sounds. 

“I know, I know, just...if we can go any faster than this, please can we,” he says, leaning back and closing his eyes, silently going through a breathing exercise as his anxiety suddenly shoots straight upwards. 

Ingrid and Ashe thankfully don’t say anything while he does, so once he’s feeling more in control, he opens his eyes and finds Ingrid still leaning over the seat, looking at him. She smiles when he meets her eyes, and he manages a shaky one in return. 

“We’ll be there in an hour and a half, although I’ll need some coffee at the next stop,” Ashe says, soft and quiet in the car over the music, and Sylvain nods, turning to the window. 

He can’t sit here for close to two hours stewing in his own mind. He has to tell them. They’re coming all this way, supporting him and calming him with no idea why. He feels like they deserve a reason, because they are his friends and he loves them both, for doing this just because it’s clearly important. 

“Felix is my Soulmate. The mark manifested tonight, but I’ve loved him for...I don’t know, forever. So I couldn’t wait until the morning, which would be sensible, but I just have to be there now,” he says, still looking out of the glass, the world a haze of darkness with a flood of lights every few minutes. 

Ashe hits the gas and they go zooming into the fast lane. 

Sylvain yelps, Ingrid makes a high noise through her nose and Ashe doesn’t seem fazed at all as the dial turns up until they are speeding along the highway. 

“Err…” Sylvain states, still gripping onto the door handle. 

“I know a faster way once we get to the city, even with a stop, I think I can cut at least half an hour out of this,” he says, voice determined and grip on the wheel tighter. 

“What? How did you learn to drive like th-wait never mind I can guess. Please be careful,” Ingrid says, and Sylvain’s eyebrows shoot up at this new side of Ashe he’s seeing and apparently Ingrid already knows about. He’s learning a lot about his friends this evening.

Ashe chuckles. “It’s fine, I think I know where all the cameras are. And they’re in love. If this were you, I’d drive across the world to come and see you,” he says, and Ingrid goes red up to her hairline, and Sylvain wants to pull both of them in his arms and never let go. 

He’ll do that as soon as they stop, he knows it by the pricking in his fingers. 

Ashe meets his gaze in the rear view mirror and smiles. “We’ll get you there, Sylvain. I’m so happy for you,” he says, and Sylvain suddenly cannot speak, can only nod. 

“I always thought but...I never knew. You two were always push and pull, and I couldn’t keep up with how you functioned together,” Ingrid says, and Sylvain nods again, finding his voice. 

“It’s been a long time building, becoming this way,” he says, and Ingrid stretches out her hand to grip his. 

“That’s what they never tell you about love. That it’s wonderful but tragic, takes effort and work but it’s worth every second. And sometimes it takes years to shape itself. Even if you know from the first moment, that isn’t enough of a foundation to make it real. Stories make it seem so easy,” she says and Sylvain thinks he might cry if he speaks, so just squeezes her hand. 

Sylvain does make good on his internal promise and sweeps both of them into a hug the moment they’re out of the car. Ashe leaves to use the bathroom and Sylvain follows Ingrid in to buy snacks, paying for the obscene amount they apparently need for the rest of the hour. 

As they queue for coffee, she speaks. 

“Soulmates,” she says, and the one word makes Sylvain grin. 

“Yeah. I don’t know how he’s going to feel about that. Or any of this,” he says. 

“How do you feel?” she says and he allows himself to stretch out his emotions in his mind and body, think and explore all that’s welling up and shaking through. 

It’s been just a few hours and nothing is settling within; it’s been a constant wave of necessity to see and be with Felix driving him forward. He had never expected things to be this way. Since their argument, he’s been on edge, knowing something had to break, needing the courage to finally take that one step. He couldn’t imagine the additional changes that have occurred too. 

“For so long, I didn’t want to know who they were. Thought it was better that way. Once upon a time though, I really did want to meet them. To know it’s Felix, who has been there all along...well it’s both amazing but I feel as if I wasted so much time,” he says as they reach the front of the line. 

Sylvain places their orders, and as they wait, she takes her time to reply. 

“It’s never time wasted. There’s a reason your mark only manifested tonight. And, more importantly, there’s a reason you know you love him now and you didn’t a year ago,” she says, and just looks at him, an unspoken conversation for another time. 

This is the most he’s talked about his emotions in one day in months, aside from in therapy. It feels good, he’s realised, to discuss this with people he trusts. It’s easier nowadays. It’s all coming together, in it’s own time. 

“God, if I could turn back time and tell seven year old me that the two boys who had an argument over jenga would be Soulmates, I would,” she says, and Sylvain laughs so hard he almost misses his name called for the coffee. 

They find Ashe staring longingly at a bunny plushie near the entrance, and Ingrid bites her lip and clearly tries not to smile before clearing her throat and he jumps having noticed them. Sylvain presents him with coffee and Ashe hugs him in return before gulping half of it down. Really, Sylvain should be more wary of this man who drives insanely fast, has the death glare from hell and can down a burning hot coffee in five seconds. 

They speed off, Ashe making good on his timing promise and also on this secret route, turning off in a direction neither he nor Ingrid had known would take you to Kingdom. He checks his phone and finds messages from all his friends, as apparently someone managed to wake up Dorothea and Petra to fill them in. He updates them of their progress and soon enough, he sees the signs to Kingdom, and his heartbeat picks up. 

They’re almost there. 

He knows Felix’s dorm, as does Ingrid, seeing as they all traded address details before the fight. They pull up at the first parking lot they see, then spend a few minutes wandering around the mostly quiet campus to locate the right dorm. Apparently Felix lives as part of a block, and there’s understandably no way of getting in. Sylvain now suddenly realises there’s a slight flaw to his plan. 

“I’ve gotta call him,” he says, not really to anyone, but to voice the action into reality, as if it will make it an easier step. 

“I think so, yes,” Ashe says, in that calm tone as he stands beside him. 

Sylvain breathes in, holds it for four, then realises it for four. Then with hands shaking more than he’d like, he thumbs through his contact list and hits the call button as quickly as possible. 

It rings. It rings, and rings in the middle of the night, and Felix probably won’t pick up the call. He’s most likely asleep, and he’s not on good terms with Sylvain, so even if he does wake up, he won’t answer. Sylvain should not have come, it was a dumb idea to rush so far to see him, he could have waited until morning, made sure Felix was actually available and wanted to speak with him so-

“Sylvain? What’s wrong?” 

And he realises, with that gruff, tired yet concerned tone of voice ringing in his ears that the previous fear has always been another trap his mind has set for him. As Felix always, without fail, answers when he calls. He might ignore a message, take weeks to answer an email but a phone call is different. A phone call is important. 

Felix has never been so angry with Sylvain in their years of knowing one another, but he answered. That fact gives him a boost of well needed confidence to start this next part. 

“Hey. Sorry, I’ve woken you. But this is...well, it’s kind of important,” he says. 

“What’s happened?” Felix answers, and Sylvain can hear the rustle of him moving and shifting around as he wakes up. It makes him yearn to cross that small distance between them. 

“Hard to explain, but do you think you could let me in? That would be easier,” he says, unable to prevent himself making this a bit of a tease despite the gravity. 

The silence on the end of the line tells him he’s succeeded. 

“What?” 

Sylvain smiles, heart pounding and every tiny inhale beating against his chest as his nerves try to escape. 

“I’m outside your dorm,” he says, and does end up giggling, a little uncontrollably when Felix lets out a string of colourful curses. 

“You’re not kidding are you? Why the fuck have you come all the way from-Sylvain it’s gone 2am, what the fuck?” he says, voice rising and clear sounds of him clattering around his room. 

“I said it was important,” Sylvain says, still almost giggling, the whole situation spinning his mind and reactions out of control. 

“Stay there. I’ll be down in a minute, you idiot,” he says, then hangs up. 

He spins around to where Ashe and Ingrid stand both grinning and holding onto each other. 

“He’s coming down,” Sylvain says and then both grab him into a hug. 

“Good luck, let us know how it goes,” Ashe says, and Sylvain nods. 

“Thank you, I will. Seriously, thank you Ashe for all this. I owe you,” he says seriously. 

Ashe just shakes his head. “Don’t be silly,” he says, but Sylvain knows he’ll be thinking about a way to give back this opportunity Ashe has given him. 

Ingrid gives him one last solo hug, then pulls back. “Just be you, Sylvain. Do that, and you’ll be fine,” she says, and the advice is probably the worst and best news he could have heard, the perfect combination of all he wants and dreads. 

Just be him. All the mess and cracked pieces trying to recall what shape he wants to be in. Display that to the person he loves and see how he takes it. Simple. Easy. 

Terrifying. 

“Call me in the morning, we’ll need to sort out getting back,” Ingrid yells as they walk away, hand in hand, and Sylvain waves afterwards. 

Alone, he stares up at the building, watching the few lights still on flicker, wondering if Felix’s room is one of these. The bag on his shoulder isn’t heavy but he feels it keenly now as his nerves blast feeling into every inch of his skin. His clothes which have been fine all day now scrape against his skin, the air feels too chilly and his teeth start to chatter. He’ll probably need to start doing something to calm himself in a minute, but just as he starts to think of what would work right now, there’s the sound of a door opening. 

He knows the walk even though he can’t see Felix clearly, so he takes slow steps forward to help meet him halfway. It doesn’t take long before Felix comes into view, in a giant hoodie and sweatpants, hands clasped within the sleeves, his hair thrown up in a messy ponytail with half of it escaping. 

He stops as Sylvain approaches, as if he hadn’t truly thought Sylvain was here. So Sylvain is the one to make the final few steps, stopping a distance away. His arm itches where ‘Steadfast’ blooms on his skin, but it doesn’t compare to seeing Felix in person. 

It’s only been a matter of weeks but Sylvain knows that he’s always felt a sense of relief and calm whenever he comes back to Felix. And right now that’s amplified tenfold with their last words being scathing and painful, as well as the sheer comfort Felix is rediating in his sleepwear. Sylvain has the urge to pull him close but that is far too preemptive. 

So instead he opts for a greeting. “Hey Felix, thanks for not leaving me in the cold.” 

Felix rolls his eyes. “Hurry up and come inside then,” he says, then turns around and marches on, Sylvain having to jog to catch up. Felix holds open the door to the block and Sylvain slips through before they cross to the elevator. No one is around in the entryway, so it’s a dense, thickened quiet that envelopes them as they step into the elevator. 

Felix presses ‘6’ and the doors close. Immediately, Sylvain is aware not only of how close he is to Felix, but of how small the space is. The lift rumbles up, and Felix isn’t looking at him, which Sylvain is glad for as he’s starting to sweat. He hasn’t been in a lift in years, for the same reason he hasn’t been in full dark. He will, if shut in for too long, panic. His breathing starts to race but the numbers are climbing, if he just focuses on numbers perhaps it will pass, and this night won’t start with him having a panic attack. 

The bell dings, and the doors open. Sylvain stumbles out, breathing harshly, and just about resists falling to his knees. 

“Sylvain,” Felix says, jumping out of the lift and standing beside him, worry clear. Sylvain inhales twice then is about to brush it off, but stops. No. He has to be him, and that includes these wrecked parts. 

“I can’t really do lifts. Forgotten that,” he says, and Felix’s worry doesn’t diminish, but he does nod in shared understanding. 

“My room is just there,” he says, pointing to the second door down, and Sylvain straightens, already feeling better having just left the lift. Felix leads the way, casting glances at Sylvain over his shoulder, as if he's’ afraid he’ll vanish or collapse at any second. He unlocks the door and hurries inside, Sylvain following. 

He can’t help but smile at the state. Organised chaos, much like Felix’s room has always been, is the best method of describing it. His laptop is shut on his desk with papers and textbooks haphazardly balanced alongside. His jacket is on the back of his chair, and two large empty cups with coffee stains are on the floor by the bed. There’s a box half unpacked, wardrobe door open and books line the far wall under the window, where there is no bookcase. The wall beside his bed has a few posters Sylvain recognises, and, to his pleasant surprise, a collection of photos are also tacked on. 

Felix’s face colours when he looks at the state of it, but he says nothing, just moves his jacket out of the way so Sylvain can sit at the desk chair. He does, while Felix perches on the bed. 

The awkwardness does descend now, and while Sylvain does not regret his slight dramatics, he is at a loss of where to begin. There is a lot, almost too much to be said and revealed, but he knows that when something appears overwhelming, it’s best to break it up into smaller pieces. So he starts at the beginning. 

“I’m sorry for what I said back in your house. It’s taken me too long to say that, but Felix, really. I am so sorry,” he says, looking across the small room. 

Felix lifts his chin and sighs. “I’m sorry too. I didn’t mean for it to come out that way,” he says. 

There is an undeniable undercurrent of issues they are starting to reveal with this, and Sylvain takes a second before he dives in. 

“But because we said these things I guess it shows we have a lot to talk about,” he says, watching as Felix shifts on the bed, not meeting his eyes. Sylvain can’t say he’s great at talking things out either, and they’ve spent a lot of their lives avoiding the undercurrent of issues that circle them as people. 

But Felix lifts his head and nods. “You’re right,” he says, folding his arms over his chest, and Sylvain desperately wants to give him a hug so he doesn’t have to do it himself.  _ Wait _ , his mind chastises, as there is so much to do before he can consider that. 

“Did you come all this way in the middle of the night like an idiot to talk to me about our fight?” Felix says, quirking an eyebrow, and Sylvain grins. 

“That and some other things. But I’ll start there. You weren’t entirely wrong with what you said,” he admits and Felix’s expression changes and he sits straighter. 

“No, Sylvain, I-”

“Meant what you said. I know you, Felix. You’ve never minced your words. I’m the one who does that,” he says with a bitterness creeping in, which he immediately has to bite his lip against. This is going poorly, battling against his own self doubt as he tries to have this discussion. 

But he’s going to do it, and not let his own brain distract him from the things he needs to say. 

“You’re partly right, I guess. But I think you give me too much credit, I’ve never had the guts to actually run away. It never crossed my mind, even though others would have. Mentally, I suppose though, I did. You’re right, I couldn’t cope. At all. So I tried badly, by distracting myself with anything and everything I could find because I came home and just knew I was trapped,” he says, and as it begins it becomes an avalanche, tumbling with its own force. 

“I found small ways to escape, though. But it came at a price. I lost you all in the process and I had to stretch myself so far I started to snap at the edges. But I got to study what I wanted, where I wanted and put off others things my father wanted me to do and be. But the price was heavy. And I’m paying the debt now,” he says, meeting Felix’s gaze, who is rigid as he stares back at Sylvain. 

He sighs and looks to the side as he starts to speak. “You were right, what you said. I attack with half my words, they come out like that, even if I don’t intend them to. And I’m not exactly happy about it, I don’t know how to stop. Verbal abuse is an accurate term,” he says and the pain in his voice is so laced in each word Sylvain is drawn to him. He drags the wheels of the chair across the floor until he’s in touching distance, but doesn’t reach out. 

“That I didn’t mean to say, Felix,” he says softly. 

Felix meets his eyes then, and seems to lean forward a little, as if he too is pulled to be closer. Or perhaps Sylvain is just wishing it. The moment is broken when Felix pulls back, leaning against the wall and once again crossing his arms. 

“You aren’t the first, it’s fine,” he says, and Sylvain exhales, realising that, although he honestly doesn’t feel that way, they’ve reached an impasse in this conversation, and it’s time for one of them to move past this point. For now at least. 

“What I’m trying to say is that, I’m sorry for leaving you, or making you feel like I did. It was never you, not once. I’ve had too many things I’ve been running from but they’re all inside my head and now I’m learning to take them out one at a time and deal with them. It’s the only way I can survive, really,” Sylvain says, and Felix makes a pained sound, cut short once exposed, but still heard all the same. 

“You don’t have to apologise for dealing with pain, Sylvain,” he says, leaning forward again, a constant back and forward in posture, like all things between them. 

Sylvain laughs, that bubble and fizz of nerves arising in his chest as he tumbles forward into what motivated him to arrive here in the middle of the night. 

“I do, because it meant I pushed things to the side which were important, things if I’d realised earlier maybe that wouldn’t have happened. Maybe...I could have changed things,” he says, easing himself into it. 

Felix frowns. “What are you talking about?” 

Sylvain’s had hours to work this through in his head; to piece together recollections and moments, which with hindsight make so much sense. An obvious pattern of his path to this realisation, one which others have tried to point out to him along the way. 

“I made a promise to you. Which you remember?” he says, and Felix rolls his eyes. Sylvain stays silent, waiting until Felix groans. 

“Yes, we made some silly promise as kids,” he snaps back. 

“Didn’t seem so silly a few weeks ago,” Sylvain says, voice a little harder and Felix goes red to the tips of his ears. So far, this isn’t going well, but at least Felix is still listening. 

“I did that, and meant it. I was fourteen and the thought of never having you in my life sounded impossible, plus you were already so sad I wanted to make you smile. Give you something, and that was all I had to offer. Which isn’t much, I know.” 

He takes a breath, and Felix is frowning now, back against the wall and warily looking back at Sylvain, tense as if half poised to flee. He swallows, but continues. 

“And I didn’t do that with anyone else. Not Dimitri or Ingrid or anyone I met afterwards. Just you. Only you,” he says, and smiles, Felix eyes shifting, that faint blush arising in his cheeks and it spurns on Sylvain’s hope that perhaps this might have a chance. 

“You were always important to me, Felix. And I realised on the worst day what that meant, even if I couldn’t face it then. It was during your fencing final. It was like a lightning strike, I just saw you move and fight like that, and I knew. I fell, head first. But it was also probably the worst day of your life as you lost Glenn, and then everything started to fall apart. And I couldn’t say anything because I could barely understand it myself,” he says, and now he’s begun, he cannot stop until the end, having to make a huge effort to slow his words down enough for them to be audible. 

“I couldn’t face the feelings though. I couldn’t face any feelings because I knew my father wouldn’t let me have what I wanted. I’m bi and he would try and remove that if he could, just like he removed Miklan when it didn’t suit his aims, like we can’t mention my mum because she left, and that doesn’t happen to Gautier men. So being me, in any shape or form wasn’t possible because I knew he’d tear it down. I had to sneak in tiny pieces to keep myself intact and it didn’t even work, because I lost who I was. And I knew I was doing it, pretending to be someone I wasn’t. So as I did that, I cut down anything that was real, as I didn’t think I deserved it, and knew no one deserved me.”

This part is hard though, and Sylvain finds his words sticking tightly in his throat, the telling crush of anxiety pulling a belt around his chest. Tonight is obviously not the time for him to discuss the details of this time in his life, so he breathes through and focuses on the sensation of sitting on the chair, of being in the room. 

Felix says nothing, lets him calm until he can speak again. 

“It’s taken a long time to start being able to realise I can be who I am. I can feel what I feel. I wasn’t ready in the past to face up to what my feelings were and what they could be. But now, I am. It’s so late, and I’m sorry, but I’m here,” he says, babbling slightly at the end, looking up to Felix who is absolutely frozen, fingers digging into arms in a way which must at least pinch, he can see them bending and pushing at the flesh. 

“What do you mean, Sylvain?” he says carefully, every note slow and measured.

And Sylvain doesn’t need to hesitate for this last part, that strange comfort flowing suddenly.

“I love you, Felix. I have always loved you. In different ways, at different times, but it’s been growing throughout our lives so much that it’s part of who I am. And I can finally see it for what it is. I fell for you at seventeen, and I fall for you a little differently each time I see you, or hear your voice, or sometimes even think about you. I love you. And I always will, even if I literally only said this out loud for the first time about four hours ago,” he says, managing to laugh a little at the final confession.

There is a silence for a second, Sylvain unable to look at anything but his hands which are shaking, as he waits for Felix’s reaction. 

“You’re an idiot.” 

He looks up, startled not only by the words but the thickness of the tone in which they are expelled. Felix sits across from him, his frame still closed in on itself in defence, a scowl set on his face, teeth almost bared as he tries to clench them, colour patching its way across his checks as his eyes blink frantically. 

Obviously trying extremely hard not to cry. 

As soon as Sylvain meets his gaze, he speaks again. 

“Always been such an idiot. You realised all this and you had to drive for hours in the middle of the night to say this?” he says, and his voice is losing composure with every word, but he doesn’t move a muscle. 

Sylvain therefore doesn’t reach out, but smiles softly for him. “I actually didn’t drive. I got Ashe to drive me and Ingrid tagged along, but yeah. I came here in the middle of the night to tell you I loved you,” he says. 

Felix makes a frustrated sound and drops his head into his hands. He breathes in deeply then raises his head. For the first time in so long, there is no challenge or readiness in Felix’s expression. Even his arms fall to his sides, losing the protective gesture. He just looks tired, face lax and eyes a little brighter, wilder than Sylvain is used to, along with shadows he hadn’t noticed before. There’s sadness too, and it’s not what he’d imagined this would be like. 

“I don’t really remember much of the moment my father told me Glenn died. I just...don’t. I know you got me to my room somehow and I know you read to me. I remembered holding on to you, and then I woke up and you were gone. Glenn was gone, my father was gone and so were you,” he says and Sylvain swallows against the tar coating his throat at the recollection. 

“I couldn’t have my brother back. I didn’t want my father back. But sitting there, in my room when the whole world was different, I just wanted you again,” he says, and it’s Felix’s turn to swallow. 

“And I didn’t know what to do with that. But I didn’t matter because over the months that followed, I stopped feeling anything. I went from needing and hating to just...nothing. It just appeared in blasts, these sudden minutes of seconds where everything hurt and then back to being nothing at all. And my father focused on Dimitri, and Ingrid moved, and you pulled away and left so I just buried it all,” he says, before lifting a sweatered hand to his temple, a subtle swipe at his eyes before anything could fall. 

“I missed you, though. Through it all, I missed you. When I could feel that and eventually it calmed back down and I still wanted you back here like you were that day. But it was too hard to tell you, and I couldn’t explain why it was happening, to myself or to you. I always knew your family were assholes, we all kind of did but we couldn’t explain it without it seeming strange,” he says. 

“That’s the whole point of people like that, Felix. They make it so no one knows, it’s not your fault,” Sylvain says softly, but Felix shakes his head. 

“I should have worked it out, I should have known when..” he cuts off though, actually clenching his jaw part way. Sylvain frowns but Felix shakes his head. 

“I should have known. But I could guess, and I knew why you were backing away but I just kept cycling back to that day when you were the only person I could trust when Glenn died. The only person who stayed. Everyone always leaves, but you I thought would stay. You, I wanted to stay,” he says and Sylvain is at his limit of staying still now, and gets up on unsteady legs so he sits gingerly on the side of the bed. 

“I always came back though. And I always will,” he says, another promise for them in the now, and that’s the part that tips Felix over the edge. 

He begins to cry, silent tears that just spill out in an uneven flow down his cheeks to his chin. An inhalation becomes a vice exhalation as he opens his mouth, hands once again swiping at his face, although this time to no effect as more tears replace those erased. 

“I think I’ve been in love with you since you held my hand and helped my climb that wall, you fucking idiot. And here I am crying about you, again, like a fool because you couldn’t wait until a reasonable time of day to tell me all this. I hate you so much,” he says, and the last part comes out as a half sob. 

Sylvain can’t stop smiling. His face aches with the force of it, which feels absurd with the juxtaposition of Felix crying in front of him, so he shuffles forward on the bed so he can reach out and cup his face in his hands. 

Finally. After so long. Felix’s entire body shudders as he tries to breathe properly, and Sylvian sort of wants to cry with him as he can understand precisely how he’s losing control of all semblance of composure, but this makes him want to laugh, giggle, yell at the top of his lungs. 

Felix loves him.  _ Loves him.  _

“You love me, you don’t hate me,” he says as he wipes away a few tears and Felix tries to shake his head. 

“I absolutely hate you, pulling this shit on me, telling me you love me now, for no reason-” 

“You love me too, you just said it. You do,” Sylvain says, actually letting out a small giggle and settling his weight down in his heels as he leans forward closer, almost to the point of resting his forehead against Felix’s. But not yet, not quite yet. 

“I am so annoyed by you right now Sylvain, I swear-” 

“Just say you do. It’s okay, no one else can hear,” he says, and Felix stills and then tips his head so he is just a hair's breadth away. 

“Like I’d care if they could. I love you, Sylvain,” he says, and Sylvain does drop his head to Felix’s and moves his hands to his neck, running his thumbs over the skin there in what he hopes is a soothing motion. 

Felix’s arms come around his middle, hesitant in their grip but building in confidence when Sylvain doesn’t move, just breaths in this moment, this closeness. 

“Are you going to kiss me or do I need to do all the work?” Felix grumbles and Sylvain laughs but keeps his eyes closed. 

“Sorry, here I am leaving you waiting again-” he says, but doesn’t get the chance to finish whatever retort his mind is trying to come up with, because Felix kisses him instead. 

It’s a moment of full sensation, as with his eyes closed Sylvain was not braced for the moment, not ready to be kissed. If he could ever really be ready for Felix to kiss him, that is. It strikes him then that he does not remember the last time he was ever kissed, where someone had jumped the gap and shocked him with unexpected affection. Probably back when this was all new, when he was younger and lost himself in testing, trying, learning. 

Learning what it’s like to be kissed by the person he loves is not something he envisioned would happen, and the swiftness of Felix’s reflexes stuns him, so the first press of lips against his is a simple brush. Sweet, soft, testing even; which someone who didn’t know Felix would claim to be uncharacteristic, but Sylvain knows better. It is precisely what makes him who he is, without walls or pretence. 

The touch drives him to reply though, and presses back into the warmth and slight spark that is being stoked between them. For this is still slow, and lingering, Sylvain barely wanting to break away but having to, for he knows with slight adjustments this can be better; so much better. 

So he does, turns his head to the side and moves his left hand up so it’s gently cupping Felix’s cheek. He swears he can feel tiny zips and snaps of connectivity with every shift against his skin, and the heat from his cheeks before he dips back down. 

This angle is better and Felix grips him tighter in acknowledgement, the feel of each finger around Sylvain’s waist and a steadying force as he kisses back, following Sylvain’s lead in a pattern of their own creation, lips moving, mouths starting to open as time weaves around them. 

It’s warm bordering on hot, his skin beginning to burn with the mingling of Felix’s breath with his own as each kiss reaches further and further. It’s louder, the connection of their mouth, the small noises exchanged with breath, the rustle of the bedspread as they move closer to one another. 

It’s perfect in its imperfections, in the knocking of teeth, the bite Felix accidentally bestows on his lower lip, the way it tastes like saltwater. It’s a real kiss, a real start and cornerstone because he’s ready to burst with all the sensations that flow and stem from this moment, this resolution and commencement. 

They part out of necessity and Felix immediately wraps his arms around Sylvain’s back and buries his head in his shoulder. Sylvain opens his eyes; the room is exactly how it was but it feels as if the world has shifted, spun and reformed as one hand winds itself into Felix’s hair and the other around his shoulders. 

“I’m still annoyed,” Felix says, and it’s so ridiculous Sylvain laughs loudly before tilting them forward, Felix yelping as he’s pushed back onto the bed. 

Sylvain rolls away so they are side by side, keeping an arm around Felix as he does, and Felix grips onto his other hand. As he does, the sleeve of Sylvain’s shirt ride up, and he recalls the second reason he came here tonight. 

“What?” Felix asks softly and Sylvain raises his eyes. 

Felix reaches out and strokes his fingers across his brow, the pads of his fingers causing a trail hot on Sylvain’s skin. 

“You get this frown, right here, when you’re worried,” Felix says and continues to stroke the skin, the touch lulling him down, the haze of the sleepless night and the adrenaline falling away. However, he forces his eyes open and pushes himself through the fog of tiredness. 

“There’s just something else I need to tell you,” he says, and Felix’s eyes widen ever so slightly and Sylvain grips him tighter, dipping his head to rest their forehead together. 

“Don’t panic,” he says and Felix scoffs. 

“I’m not, you’re the one frowning,” he says and Sylvain dips his nose to touch Felix’s and he lets out a small noise that’s unbelievably cute, his cheeks pink when Sylvain pulls back. 

After all these years of wondering, disliking and wishing for his Soulmate, he didn’t actually consider the moment when he’d have to reveal it, discuss it. He finds himself reaching and fumbling for language, but Felix is still waiting, so for him he’ll push forward. 

“When I let myself feel that I loved you…I mean, I already felt it but you know, the actually acknowledging it was something I could feel, and I wanted to tell you I loved you first, because it’s always been the first part of this and I don’t want you to-” 

“Sylvain,” Felix says slowly, and he cuts off, realising he’s babbling. 

Words, he realises, have never meant as much as actions. He’s sent and received so many fake ones. So instead of continuing to try and explain, he lists his arm and pulls back his sleeve. 

Felix blinks, then in a rush sits up, pulling Sylvain’s arms with him, staring at the text ‘steadfast’ flowing along his wrist. Sylvain hoists himself up too, unsure how it’s being received as Felix just continues to stare. 

“I know you got yours years ago, and I don’t know if it’s platonic or not, but mine is...for you. I love you, and this just is a nice extra. It suits too as you’re a stubborn, single minded and always there for me. Even when I don’t deserve it,” he says, and Felix looks up, stares at him for a second, then launches himself forward. 

Sylvain barely has time to think before he’s landing back on his back, air huffed from his lungs as Felix hovers over him. 

“Once again, you are an idiot,” he says and sits up on Sylvain’s hips, which is extremely distracting, so he sits himself up against the pillows before he can completely lose himself in the feel of Felix sitting over him. 

Except Felix doesn’t help matters, for he lifts his hoodie over his head and flings it onto the floor, casting too many imaginations into Sylvain’s brain, mouth running dry despite the fact Felix is wearing a faded band t-shirt underneath. His hands automatically come to Felix’s sides running up and down and feeling heat from his skin even through the shirt. 

Felix doesn’t acknowledge it though, instead leans over and moves his own arm in Sylvain’s face. It’s so close it takes him a second to read the letters which span the width of his bicep. His word is smaller than Sylvain’s, the writing perfect block capitals. 

_ Return. _

“I noticed it the morning after Glenn died, after you’d left. After I’d spent hours wanting to see you again, after you’d spent the whole night with me but were gone when I woke up,” he says, and Sylvain takes his, runs a finger across the mark, making Felix shiver. He looks up, raises his wrist, and places one kiss there, Felix’s mouth falling open as he does. 

“I told you; I’ll always come back,” he says, meaning every word. 

Felix makes a noise and falls down, Sylvain catching him with a muffled laugh that’s absorbed into a kiss instantly. It’s a rough kiss, and shorter for Felix pulls back and almost glares down at Sylvain. 

“And I’ve always been here. I’m determined to stay,” he says, and Sylvain grins. 

“Can’t get rid of you, huh?” Sylvain says, and Felix quirks an eyebrow. 

“Would you like to,” he says and Sylvain cups his cheek, fingers sliding into his hair. 

“Nuh-uh. You’re stuck with me, Fraldarius, for the rest of time. I love you, and you’re my Soulmate,” he says, his smile wide, especially as Felix’s cheeks light up. He’d never imagined it would be so easy to make him blush. 

“Please stop,” he groans, but falls down full onto Sylvain, cuddling into his chest and oh, Sylvain may be in heaven as Felix is cuddly, and he could never have imagined he’d cling so much when the walls were down. 

“We should sleep. Do you have class tomorrow?” he asks. 

Felix groans and looks at the time. “Not until the afternoon, thank god. But yeah, we should sleep,” he says. 

Sylvain pulls the duvet over them, eyes heavy and revelling in just how warm and good this feels, even in the bed definitely not made for two. More excuse to keep Felix close though, not that it seems to be a challenge with how he winds his legs around Sylvain’s. 

“Good night,” he mumbles against his chest. 

“Good night,” Sylvain replies, kissing the top of Felix’s head, the sound of his breathing sending him off into slumber. 

* * *

Sylvain wakes up to an almost dead phone and more messages than he can count. But he also wakes up to Felix, messy haired and gummy eyed, being so incredibly beautiful Sylvain is kissing him softly before he’s even fully awake. 

“Urg, morning breath,” Felix mumbles although he doesn’t move or stop. 

Eventually he pushes Sylvain away, and sends him to the ensuite, where Sylvain manages to put together an outfit from the random assortment of the belongings he snatched in the middle of the night. His shirt sort of clashes with his jeans, but it’s fine, and when he emerges, Felix is sitting on his bed, clothed and hair pulled back. 

The trade places, Sylvain pressing a kiss to his cheek as he passes, revelling in how Felix trips on nothing. He plugs in his phone and scrolls through his messages, noticing there is a recent one from Ingrid asking them to meet him at some cafe on campus. He sends her a quick thumbs up emoji, and immediately sees her typing, but decides for now that’s enough. 

He’ll reply eventually once he’s got the strength to answer every single query. For now though, he flops back on Felix’s bed, and stares at the words on his wrist. He traces the lines with his finger, redraws the letters for himself and revels in the reality that is still here in the morning light. 

He remembers being six years old, on the day that strange symbol arrived. He repeats those motions, shakes and moves his arm and watches as once again, the message there for all to see remains. He has spent so long questioning whether this mark is a burden or blessing, when in reality it is neither. It’s something he cannot understand, and will never probably know, but he is grateful for what it symbolises and proud of the person it connects him to. 

Speaking of which, Felix emerges from the bathroom and stares at Sylvain who lets his arm drop. 

“Ingrid asked to meet us at some place called The Blue Lion cafe,” he says, and Felix nods before walking to his desk to retrieve his keys and wallet. 

“I know it, let’s go,” he says, but Sylvain holds out his hands. 

“I’ve suddenly run out of energy. I need a kiss to revive me,” he says and instead Felix taps his shin with his foot in a muck kick. Sylvain pouts. 

“Urg, this is what I get for being romantic,” he says, and sits up, trying to tame his hair. 

“I think you mean impulsive and stupid,” Felix says and Sylvain stands up, unplugging his barely charged phone. 

“You love it,” he quips, before he can stop himself, immediately a hot searing flood of worrying coursing through. It probably isn’t okay to say that, it’s too soon and too heavy. 

But, Felix’s expression turns soft for a moment, before he shakes his head. 

“Unfortunately, I do. Now hurry up.” 

Sylvain does get his kiss, at the door, with a lot more depth than he expected. They walk, hands linked down the stairs, passing a few of Felix’s dorm mates who say hi and eye Sylvain with curiosity. 

As they step across campus, Felix grips his hand a little tighter. 

“I suppose you’ll need to go later,” he says, and Sylvain sighs. 

“Probably. But I’ll check my schedule as soon as I get home, make sure I can come visit you properly in the next few weeks. I mean, assuming you want-” 

“No Sylvain, I love you and you’re my Soulmate but a relationship feels like too much,” Felix intones, and Sylvain cannot help but laugh loudly and swing their clasped hands.

“But I’m visiting first. Your final exams are this year. I don’t have classes on Mondays and Fridays so I can work around that,” Felix says and Sylvain presses to his hair as they draw near a small cafe, trestles of flowers hanging over the entrance and sign declaring this The Blue Lions cafe. 

Sylvain pushes open the door, keeping hold of Felix’s hand and as they step through, there’s cheering. Sylvain looks across the room to see Dimitri, Ingrid, Ashe and Dedue all standing at the table and yelling, clapping and in Dimitiri’s case whistling as they walk in. The other students all look up, some in confusion and most in amusement as Felix turns scarlet and Sylvain can even feel himself blush at the attention. 

“I hate them, let’s leave,” Felix says, and Sylvain has to laugh and drag him forward to meet their friends. 

“I thought you said you didn’t care who knew you loved me,” he says. 

“I didn’t realise they would do this oh my god, fucking stop whistling Dimitri, I will kill you,” he yells marching to the table and Sylvain doubles over in laughter. 

His friends, and the man he loves. 

This moment, this day, this life he’s living right this second, could not be any better. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A quick note: in some ways, you could call this an ending. BUT as you've all got through thousands of words of pining and slowburn, the final chapter is more of a glimpse at some of their future, and a bit of established Sylvix. And it's on it's way verrry soon. 
> 
> Thank you for being here! I'm on [Twitter](http://www.twitter.com/EnlacingL/)


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Sure you’re ready for that? Ready for me to moan about you leaving your stuff everywhere,” he says and Felix frowns. 
> 
> “You’re just a neat freak,” he mutters and Sylvain laughs, lifting a hand up to cup his cheeks, thumb running across slightly chilled skin. 
> 
> “You must have thousands of hair ties scattered around your dorm, I find them in my things every time I visit. And your book stacks are a death trap waiting to happen,” he says and laughs harder when Felix growls and flips them, hovering over Sylvain, braced on his elbows. 
> 
> “I’ll buy a bookshelf,” he says like a threat. 
> 
> “We can put it together, and scream at each other in the process. Like couples do,” he says.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It feels unbelievably strange to be posting the last chapter of this story. I want to thank all of you reading, whether you started back when I first posted or are discovering it now, I am so very happy you took the time to read, and hope you enjoy this final instalment. 
> 
> Most of all, I want to thank Audrey. She's betaed every chapter, helped me massively when I had questions, taking time out of extremely busy days to just chat through this silly idea. This story wouldn't exist without you, my friend. You are wonderful <3. 
> 
> Enjoy reading!

Sylvain hadn’t originally planned to go to graduation, considering how things in his life had been over the past months. Except it turns out his friends all felt similarly, united by their own parental issues, meaning that after a series of complaints over beers one evening, they’d decided screw their families, they’d cheer on one another. 

It’s a master plan in scheduling, Dorothea arriving with four large cups of coffee extremely early on a Saturday morning while Sylvain tries to hurry Mercie along lest she be late for her own ceremony. 

“Damn sciences holding these things so early,” Dorothea moans as they pile into Sylvain’s car, her still doing Mercedes' hair while Bernadette double checks they have all they need for the day, then frets the entire journey, all three combating every single worry she has with shouts over Sylvain’s graduation day playlist.

They drop Mercedes off at the Cathedral side entrance, then circle round to park before making their way to the main entrance, where Annette waits with Lin and Petra. He hugs Annette hello and they all step in to find their seats, in time to snag ones near the front row. 

It’s the first of many celebrations. Annette jumps out of her seat and cheers when Mercedes’ name is called, and they all follow suit, Mercedes looking embarrassed but pleased as she crosses the stage to receive her degree. She finds them quickly afterwards and after taking a ridiculous amount of cute pictures of Annette and Mercie, they start again for Petra. 

Dorothea video calls her grandfather, who is too frail to fly, and he cries when he watches her cross the stage to huge cheering. Languages is followed by Lin’s Ancient History degree, where he sleeps through the whole ceremony, much to their amusement. 

Of course the Performing Arts degree is a pain, so they find themselves dashing across campus with Dorothea to cheer her on in the Main Hall instead of the cathedral. She looks like she might cry when they all clap and cheer for her, considering the graduation invite she sent to her father was returned, unopened. 

He takes as many pictures as he can, then sends them to her, and she cries again when she opens her phone, Petra holding her close, telling her how proud she is. They end up having a gap to everyone’s relief, but Bernadetta is so nervous the two end up breaking off from the others to ensure they get to the Cathedral in time. 

“It’s less than a minute. You walk across, smile, take the paper, walk down. Done,” Sylvain says as he hands over her gown and mortarboard. 

“Wh-what if I fall,” she asks, clinging to both until her knuckles turn white. 

“You won’t,” Sylvain says as he grabs his things and closes up the car. 

“But what if I do,” she insists, as they walk slowly towards the side entrance. 

“Then I’ll fall with you,” he says with a shrug. 

She makes a half shriek then grabs his arm. “Don’t you dare, you- wait, you go up before me!” 

“Exactly, so I’ll fall first and therefore it doesn’t matter what happens after!” he says with a wink. She manages a small smile in return, which he counts as win considering how nervous she seems. 

They make their way to a bench near the entrance, Sylvain pulling out a power bar and offering Bernie half. She nibbles on it, not really focusing before she turns to him. 

“Did you try inviting your dad?” she asks softly. 

The breeze picks up, his hair elevating, cooling and settling on his skin against the beat of summertime sun. He sighs and expels the wavering dark cloud that forms in his throat before it can shroud the day where it does not belong. 

“No. Our final conversation was pretty clear,” he says, and leans back, a shiver of nerves going through. 

Being cut off from his father is good, he reminds himself. He has some money, enough to pay for housing and his schooling for next year, and Byleth has said she’ll help him find a job when he gets settled in October. 

Funny; his father always wanted him to go to Kingdom. But he’ll never get to see it, or hear of it now. 

Bernie leans into his side, and he drops his head onto hers. They stay like that for a second, her warmth bleeding into his, her body slowly losing all tension. A few minutes later, Linhardt wanders over, and Sylvain stands, clapping him on the shoulder for a second before giving them some privacy. 

It’s the last time he’ll stand on these grounds for a year. Seteth is teaching at Kingdom for a year, so he’s transferring to take that specific course for his Masters degree. If all goes well, he’ll be back here for his doctorate. That’s the plan for now, anyway. Byleth will also be transferring to teach there, so he’ll have more than one friendly face, yet-

It’s the unknown. The gaping, wide future of possibility which is now his, without strings, without tethers pulling him backwards. That has been what he’s aimed for so long, and yet now it’s finally his, he’s terrified. It’s only been a month since the final discussion between them, and he’s had enough to occupy his mind but still. 

His life is his own. For the first time. 

“Sylvain? We should get ready,” Bernie calls and he turns in time to see Lin give her a kiss to her forehead, waving at Sylvain with a yawn before walking back. 

He strides forward and he gives Bernadetta one last hug. 

“It’s going to be great, okay? Let’s check we have everything,” he says suddenly, his own anxiety bursting forth and they both double check all their belongings. 

“You have everything, and so do I,” Bernie says with a nod, and Sylvain inhales, still surprised at his own bout of nerves. He didn’t even want to be here originally, and now he’s quaking somewhat as he makes his way to the changing area, and starts getting ready. 

The almost fuchsia colours he adds to the black gown clashes with his hair awfully, but it is what it is. He stares in the mirror, for a moment caught by the reflection, caught in the reality of what’s happening. His gown swamps him, the motor-board sits jauntily to the side and his eyes look wider than they probably should. 

Graduation. He’s made it. 

He gives himself a wink, can’t help but try and capture some of that levity in what will be a moment his emotions can barely contain, then takes one breath in before opening the door. He goes to the makeshift set of lockers and picks one of the few empty to leave his bag, then he lines up with all the others in the Literature major, ready to find his assigned seat. 

He catches a glimpse of Bernie down the line, who is twisting her gown in her fingers nervously. He shoots her a smile and she stills for a second, visibly calming. He nods, and she returns it, then he turns back around and waits for the line to move. 

He doesn’t look out in the crowd as they file in, too focused on the nervousness that courses as they march their way into the otherwise silent hall. Although he’s already sat through this several times today, it feels entirely different when it’s him getting ready to cross the stage. 

Seteth gives the address, followed by a talk from a graduating author, who Sylvain listens to with rapid interest, forgetting for a moment of what’s to come. But as soon as the applause is over, the shuffling around him increases, as everyone catches on to the fact it’s time. 

They’ve rehearsed this, so it’s fairly steady as each student’s name is called to accept their degree. The literature graduation is the liveliest he’s been to all day, several people getting cheers and yells of their name, without fail each person looking more embarrassed than pleased at the rowdiness of their friends and family. 

It aches. It does, he won’t deny that. The fact there is no one named Gautier out there, proud of their son for working so hard. But he’s not alone, not at all. And that’s what keeps him going as he steps closer and closer to the steps up. Soon enough, he watches the person in front of him file down the stairs on the opposite side, and braces himself, hidden in the wings as Seteth begins to speak. 

“Sylvain Jose Gautier. Graduating with first class double honours in English Literature. Recipient of this year's Saint Seiros prize for Literature, awarded for the highest scoring final undergraduate dissertation mark.” 

And then there’s _ noise.  _

Sylvain’s barely taken one step for the cheers begin, the loudest so far with no comparison, claps and whistles echoing across to him and he bites his lip to stop something from escaping, unsure whether he’ll laugh, cry or throw up if he stops. 

“Well done,” Seteth says, warmly and truly as he hands over the scroll of his degree, and the shield award. Sylvain turns smiling to the photographer with both in his hands, waiting for the flash before he flicks his eyes up. 

There they are, in the fifth row from the front. Dorothea, Lin, Mercie, Annette and Petra all on their feet, clapping and taking photos. But it’s not just them now. Ingrid, who he didn’t expect to see, holds her phone up, most likely filming. Next to her in Dimitri, another unexpected face is clapping animatedly, and he looks at the perfect moment to see him being elbowed in the side for it. 

By Felix. The only other person who he knew would be there, but the fact that he did come, is definitely here, has Sylvain turning away and quickly walking off the stage as he will most certainly start crying if he stays any longer. 

The rest of the names blur until Bernadetta Von Varley is called as the second to last graduate, and Sylvain whistles loudly as she practically runs to receive her awards and runs off again. Then, it’s done. The ceremony is over and he’s picking his way to his friends and boyfriend through the crowds. 

He’s met halfway by his friends, Dorothea and Mercedes launching him into a hug, which multiple arms join. He laughs, a little shakily, only for the hug to open with more exclamations are Bernie finally makes her way over. 

“I am never doing that again,” she says, but looks happy, Lin nodding in agreement as she clings to his side.

“Hey.” 

Sylvain turns and Felix stands before him, smile crooked and that welling in his eyes is back, this time there’s no stopping it. Felix looks alarmed so steps forward to wrap his arms gently around Sylvain, who buries his head in Felix’s shoulder. 

He feels his whole body quake, a few tears falling, still so overwhelmed. Felix clutches him tightly, knowing just as well as Sylvain what this means. What he’s worked for and what it’s cost him. And the fact they are all there to see it to the end means more than he’ll ever be able to articulate. 

“I’m proud of you,” Felix murmurs into his ear, and Sylvain hugs back, clings to the pride and the love and care of those around him, not listening to any other feeling that tries to creep in and wonder if this was all worth it. 

Annette takes a picture of the six of them later, throwing the motor-boards into the air, all of them captured mid throw, laughing, shrieking and crying in the dizziness of their achievement. Sylvain has it printed and framed next to his official photo, the two parts of his undergraduate which mean the most to him. 

* * *

Despite going to the same university, Sylvain sees less of Felix than he first imagined. Felix lives with Dimitri and Dedue close to campus, while Sylvain’s place is on the other side of town. Not a huge distance, but enough to mean it’s not as simple as turning up in the middle of the night. 

Or Sylvain would imagine that, but it’s 2am and here is his boyfriend, shivering the November air. 

“Felix? You must be freezing, get in here,” Sylvain says, immediately stepping aside, and Felix practically runs in, hands moving up and down his arms as Sylvain blocks out the night and follows his boyfriend into the small living room. 

He’s been here long enough that Felix knows the layout of the place, and Sylvain likes that he feels at home enough now to walk in, not wait. He wants it like this, a space Felix feels comfortable in, not one he thinks he needs to put on airs for. 

Sylvain walks past him and grabs a blanket from the couch and quickly sweeps it over Felix’s shoulders who grips it even as he scowls. 

“I’m not a child,” he snaps, and Sylvain sighs. 

“No, but you’re freezing. That will do until I can get the room warmer. Do you want a jumper?” Sylvain replies, and part of the defence falls, as Felix half nods, a grudging motion and Sylvain leaves him to sit down in order to grab a jumper from his room. 

He’s still rummaging through his closet when he hears Felix’s determined steps. He spies a blue hoodie and grabs it, turning around as Felix arrives. 

“Hey,” Sylvain greets, wondering if it’s best to almost start again, to work out why he’s showed up in the middle of the night. He flicks on the heater by his bed as he approaches, handing over the jumper. 

“Hey. You weren’t asleep, were you?” he asks slowly, throwing the blanket on the bed and pulling the jumper on, hair instantly static where it meets the fabric. 

“Nope, day off tomorrow so I've been working on my assignment,” he says, then opens up his arms. 

Felix comes with no encouragement, sinking into his arms and Sylvain rests his head lightly on top of Felix as he encircles him. He can still feel the chilled skin of his arms, knows it will be a while before Felix really warms up. He kisses the top of his head once and then waits, knowing this is the only way these conversations work. 

“I yelled at Dimitri. And left,” he says into Sylvain’s chest. 

Sylvain closes his eyes and squeezes him tightly. It’s still hard for them, and probably will take more years with Glenn gone than with him alive before they can shape themselves into better friends. Perhaps living together wasn’t the best idea, but Sylvain knows they both want it to be better. They just trip up in the process. 

“Not good to sleep on an argument,” Sylvain says into Felix’s hair, who says nothing for a moment. 

“Couldn’t stay there. Not now.” 

It shouldn’t be such a wondrous feeling which strikes, not when Felix is clearly hurting, but Sylvain cannot help but be glad Felix comes to him when things like this happen. Felix yawns, and Sylvain tips them backwards, Felix huffing as they land, but not protesting as Sylvain reassembles them to so they lie side by side, Felix curls into him. 

“I missed you,” Sylvain says, and Felix smiles, just slightly. 

“You saw me last week, it’s more than we’ve had for the last year,” he says, and Sylvain preens a little at a year. Over a year in fact of being together, of beginning a relationship in long distance and still seeing it through. 

“Yeah but I saw you in a gap between classes, not the same. We’re going out Saturday though,” he reminds Felix, who rolls his eyes as if to say ‘like I would forget’ and it makes this all the more sweeter. 

As the room heats up, Felix removes the jumper, and eventually succumbs to changing, taking one of Sylvain’s shirts, too large and yet exactly the side it needs to be, comfy looking in the way it falls over his frame. Absently, Sylvain traces the word  _ Return _ on Felix’s forearm, a motion he finds himself doing whenever the bare skin is before him. 

“I don’t want to live with them next year,” Felix says, and Sylvain realises with a start that he’s almost fallen asleep. 

“You don’t have to,” he says, curling in, but strangely Felix pulls back, wanting to catch his eyes. There’s a depth to that look, an undercurrent and meaning, but he doesn’t have time to try and decipher it as Felix, as ever straightforward speaks. 

“I want to...I think we should live together. If you want,” he says, face almost glowing in the half darkness. 

Sylvain thinks for a moment he’s imagined it, but the determined stare mixed with clear nerves he received in the wake of the ask has his mouth pulling upwards. He doesn’t respond but moves forward, kissing the bow of Felix’s lips so softly. 

“Sure you’re ready for that? Ready for me to moan about you leaving your stuff everywhere,” he says and Felix frowns. 

“You’re just a neat freak,” he mutters and Sylvain laughs, lifting a hand up to cup his cheeks, thumb running across slightly chilled skin. 

“You must have thousands of hair ties scattered around your dorm, I find them in my things every time I visit. And your book stacks are a death trap waiting to happen,” he says and laughs harder when Felix growls and flips them, hovering over Sylvain, braced on his elbows. 

“I’ll buy a bookshelf,” he says like a threat. 

“We can put it together, and scream at each other in the process. Like couples do,” he says.

“You’ve never put a shelf together in your life, it will end up a disaster,” he says and Sylvain launches up, catching Felix and moving them fluidly so they’re wrapped up in one another, Felix in his lap. 

“Yeah. But it will be our disaster,” he says, and he feels Felix’s breath catch in his chest against him. 

“Yeah?” he asks, breathless in the next step they’re committed to taking, and Sylvain feels that spark course through whenever his future opens, wide and complete with Felix by his side. 

“Yeah. We’ll start looking for a place for next year in a few months,” Sylvain promises, pulling Felix back down to curl up against him for it is still the middle of the night. 

It takes a while for them to fall back to sleep, kisses and ideas passed between, lost in excited thoughts of the future. 

* * *

It takes longer than Sylvain imagines to introduce Byleth and Dimitri. 

He thinks of it just before the move, recalling with certainty what he thinks their connection is. Despite the whole year of being in the same place together, he spends most time keeping her separate from his old school friends, their world slightly divided. 

She’s taken up a teaching position at Kingdom, and that leads Sylvain into his decision to do his PhD there. Felix will be finishing his final year, so it actually makes sense. Alongside, there’s quite a few job opportunities, seeing as he’ll need to start thinking of this to help get him through the extra four years of study. 

“Are you asking me to help you move? I’m happy to,” she says and Sylvain shakes his head. 

“More of a celebration dinner after we’ve managed it. We aren’t going far from where I am now,” he says, and she tips her head to the side. 

“I’m happy to help,” she insists and he shrugs, the more hands the merrier as they need all the help they can get really, especially considering some will be more helpful than others. 

It’s a relief actually to be surrounded by friends as the call from his father’s secretary occurs just as he arrives, Felix already driven over and Dimitri helping him move a couch that Sylvain does not recall ever mentioning. 

He ducks out to speak to her, the two giving him a strange look as he steps outside without warning. 

“Sylvain, Mr Gautier will be releasing the rest of the trust fund to you this year. I need your signature on the documents, so it will be sent to you. I’d just like to confirm the address?” she says, voice robotic as if she’s not talking to the son he’s cut off. 

“I need to find it, hang on,” he says, walking in and swerving around his friends, waving as at Ashe and Ingrid who have arrived. 

He grabs the only proof of address they have and rattles it off. 

“That’s different to what I have on file,” she says and Sylvain huffs. 

“Yeah, I’ve moved. Today in fact. Living with my boyfriend. Make sure to tell my old man that when he sends the documents,” he says, and he sees several people freeze out of the corner of his eye. 

There’s silence on the other end, just the tapping of keys and Sylvain feels like he might vomit up his breakfast. He quickly drops the paper and moves out of the room, hearing Felix call out to him as he goes. He walks outside and into the morning light, stinging his eyes as his excuse for the moisture there. 

It’s been over a year since he heard from his father’s office at all. And this will most likely be the last time. 

“I’ve recorded that, and I’ll send the documents today,” she says suddenly, and Sylvain nods, then realises he has to force himself to vocalise. 

“Thanks,” he says, as bitter as it intends. 

There’s a pause, then a sigh. “Congratulations on the move,” she says softly, before the phone call ends with a click. 

He lowers his phone, just staring forward, wiping his eyes once, only to come face to face with Felix’s concerned expression as he finishes. He leans forward and Felix meets him there, leaning upwards and gripping him tightly. 

“What did the bastard want?” Felix mutters into his shoulder and Sylvain chokes on a laugh. 

“Me to sign some papers. Had his secretary call. Then...I think that’s it,” he says, and Felix pulls back. 

He studies Sylvain for a second, hand clutching his own, and Sylvain squeezes it, a reassurance that Felix is still there. 

“Your dad is a a waste of fucking space. You’re better off,” Felix says with vigour and Sylvain nods. 

“I know.”

“You have done all this without him, in fact he held you back. Always,” Felix continues and Sylvain sighs. 

“I know.” 

“Not to mention with your bro-”

“Felix. I know,” Sylvain snaps as he is not able to talk about Miklan now, not even able to allow his thoughts to spin back to those years. 

He isn’t lying when he says he knows. He is so much better off than staying would have allowed him to be. But he is still at times a boy who craves a family, one he never has had and never will get in the blood sense. It isn’t everything, but the loss has a mark, one his father has dug deeper in his decision now to fully cut Sylvain off. 

Felix doesn’t take insult to the snap, but Sylvain feels terrible, and closes his eyes once as a restart. He opens them and Felix is still there, still supportive and worried, so he falls forward and kisses him once. 

“I am so much happier here, with you, moving our furniture into our apartment. I wish I could stop...feeling anything about him,” he says and Felix coaxes one more kiss from him. 

“I wish I could take it away. But let’s focus on moving our furniture before Dimitri breaks everything,” he says, and Sylvain smiles, pulling back.

As he does, he notices a familiar car pull up, and waves as Byleth arrives. Felix slides to his side, aware Sylvain wants for now to let go of it, but the comfort is appreciated, as is the knowledge that Felix still knows him so well. He slides his hand into Felix’s, who grips it with almost too much force, and he smiles to himself as Byleth approaches. 

“Sorry, am I late?” she asks, and Sylvain shakes his head. 

“Right on time for the heavy lifting,” he jokes, but she offers a small smile before gripping what one of Sylvain knows is one of the heaviest boxes on the sidewalk, and hefts it inside without flinching. Sylvain blinks for a moment, then hurries inside to direct her to the correct apartment, while Felix follows with a smaller box. 

He can hear his friends debating something about kitchen utensils as he arrives, and he holds the door open so Byleth can enter, barely able to see over the top of the box. 

“Sylvain, are just getting everyone to carry stuff for you?” Ingrid asks and he holds his hands up in surrender. 

“Byleth offered!” he says.

“I did, where do you want this to go?” she calls from behind the box, and Dimitri jumps forward as she speaks. 

“Please, I can take that, it’s just going with the other boxes,” he says, gesturing behind. 

“I can manage, thank you,” Byleth says, and marches over to where the other boxes are, Dimitri hovering as he’s want to do when he feels he should be helping. 

Byleth places the box down carefully, then pushes her hair out of her eyes before straightening, almost bumping into Dimitri who is still hovering, and Sylvain has half a mind to tell him to stop hovering as he accidentally knocks one of the boxes over when the two catch eyes. 

It’s a strange sensation witnessing it. Sylvain almost feels that moment catch, the air in the room vanishing on instant as they both freeze, caught up in one another. He’s always had his suspicions since seeing her soulmark but he never imagined they’d sense that connection the second they met. 

“Hello,” Dimitri says, and it doesn’t sound like a first meeting; more of a return, a relief and recognition, a nuance Sylvain marvels at even as he feels himself smiling. 

“Hi. Dimitri, was it?” Byleth says, and she is smiling more than Sylvain ever remembers seeing as she holds out her hand to him. 

“Did you plan this?” Felix suddenly hisses far too close to his ear and Sylvain slaps his hand over it and grimaces as he turns. 

“Not really, I didn’t know that would happen,” he mutters back, gesturing at the two who are now clutching hands and speaking quietly. 

“Urg, weird, I hate it,” Felix mutters then stomps off to grab more of his things as Sylvain laughs. 

They manage between them all to set the place up into something that’s not a complete disaster heap before they check out a local pizza place for dinner. It’s good, having so many of them all together, Dimitri stammering his way through conversation with Byleth the whole night, who seems charmed. 

“I had a feeling you guys would get on,” Sylvain mutters to Dimitri as they hug goodbye, who pulls back with alarm. 

“You must tell me more of this another time,” he says, looking somewhat worried and Sylvain chuckles. 

“Sure, but for now go say goodbye and for god’s sake remember to ask for her number,” he says. 

Byleth apparently is much better at not leaving these things to chance for she actually asks for Dimitri’s. After the ups and downs of the day, Sylvain is bone tired when Felix takes his hand and drags him back to their apartment. 

Theirs. Their home, together. In the warm yellow light it seems surreal, the place half set up and half resigned to a weekend of unboxing and probably, judging by how much stuff is here, a few heated discussions of how much they actually need all these and things and where they’ll go. 

But for now they just stumble through the apartment, their apartment, to their bedroom, and collapse in bed, too tired from the day to do much but get ready and kiss goodnight before Sylvain is tumbling into sleep. 

Of course though, his mind does not let him rest. Why would it be so kind to him? Perhaps it’s the conversation with his father’s secretary today, perhaps it’s just as the evening has been so wonderful his memories decide to throw him back to the past to remind him that these moments are few and far between. 

He dreams of the well. Of that too small space - but now he’s older it’s even smaller, limbs cramped and aching with injuries as the water rises up his chest. He can feel himself sinking, falling under what he knows must be a dream for this is not what occurred. But he cannot wake, he cannot tell himself to get out and jump back to reality, still fighting to claw up to that slither of daylight, fluffy white clouds idyllically passing across a circle of brilliant azure above his head. 

But he’s so far away, trapped in the dank and gloom while water rises and steals his breath. No matter how hard he fights, no matter what he does, he is trapped, and this frigid water will be the last thing he’ll see. 

“Sylvain!” 

He’s drawn out of his nightmare suddenly, almost too much so for he flails around and smacks his arm against the wall, the dull ache bringing him sharply back to reality. He blinks Felix into focus, who looms concerned over him, and that sight alone has his nerves calming. 

“Nightmare,” he murmurs unnecessarily, and Felix sighs, sweeping the hair from his eyes, the touch making his eyes flutter shut as Felix moves his hand from his forehead down to his cheek. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” Felix asks softly, settling back down by his side, and Sylvain opens his mouth to shrug it off, then shuts it, eyes opening. 

Tonight, for no reason that he can fathom, he wants to talk about it. The day clearly weighs heavily on him, and in their new apartment, their first night here, he thinks for the first time in years, he does want to tell someone about that time. 

He turns on his side, Felix blinking tiredly as he does, and moves to wrap an arm around his waist. He exhales and Felix waits, giving him space, which helps him to try and collect his thoughts together. 

“Do you remember when I...fell down the stairs, when I was a kid?” he says. 

Felix nods, not saying anything. They’ve had this conversation before, but Sylvain’s never actually given an answer. 

“Well, you know I didn’t actually fall down the stairs. I...fell down the old well in the garden. And um, fall is a generous statement. Seeing as the only one who knew what happened was Miklan, I was down there for some time. It still comes back sometimes,” he says, and tries for a smile as Felix’s face morphs into anger and concern. 

“He pushed you down a well?” Felix hisses, and Sylvain tightens his hold. 

“It was years ago,” he says and Felix shuffles forward until their foreheads are touching. 

“It doesn’t matter, Sylvain. Your brother pushed you down a fucking well and left you there. No wonder you have nightmares. No wonder…” Felix stops speaking and Sylvain draws back a little, hand resting against his cheek. 

“What is it?” he asks, and Felix looks up at him, eyes locking. 

“My soulmark reacted that day. I knew something happened to you, so I made a fuss until someone called your father,” he says and Sylvain just stares, reeling. 

“So that’s why I knew you didn’t fall down the stairs. I’m pretty sure most people assumed with your injuries but, I knew it worse than that,” he says and Sylvain closes the gap, placing a gentle kiss on his lips. 

“There you are again, saving me,” he says, meant to be teasing, but Felix nods, serious. 

“And always will,” he says, and Sylvain smiles into the next kiss, a weight so long lodged in his chest starting to crumble. 

* * *

The news of his brother’s death comes two weeks after the fact, and one week after the burial. Strangely, it’s near his hometown, the place secured by Miklan’s girlfriend, who helps the executor track him down. 

“He left a letter for you, which was found in his belongings,” he says, handing it over to Sylvain, who stands in the office unsure what to do with the information that’s been cycling through his mind for the last day since he’d received the call. 

He thanks them on autopilot, and steps out into the chilled air, before walking towards the cemetery. He didn’t ask for details as to why his brother had asked to be buried here; all he knows is where the grave is, that the death was sudden, and all he has now is the letter he clasps in his hands. 

A strange time. The news came just a day after Petra and Dorothea announced their engagement. Sylvain hasn’t been home in years, seeing as he has no reason to, and just being in this past space so soon after promising to celebrate the future in his current, new found friendships and family is an odd sensation. 

He finds the grave quickly, regretting not bringing flowers or something to mark the area. The wind blows and he shivers, not really sure what to do now he’s here. Part of him wishes he’d taken up Felix’s offer of company, but he knows this is a moment he has to do alone. 

“I’m sorry,” he says to the air without conscious thought, words floating away in the wind. 

He is, after all. Sorry that their lives were shaped by others this way, sorry in the three years that have passed since his father completely disowned him he’d not even thought to find his brother. Perhaps they could have reconnected. Perhaps it could have been different. 

But Sylvain has spent too much time in regret, and although he aches deeply in thinking of what has been lost, he cannot keep stepping in the past. So instead, he opens the letter in his hands. 

It’s not long. Just a paragraph, dated just over a year ago. His eyes mist as he reads his brother’s own short apology. That he heard Sylvain was now a Professor, and wished him the best. There’s a number at the bottom, a phone call he’ll never make. The letter was clearly not sent, no address on it. 

Lost time. Regrets. Too much of Sylvain’s life is wrapped up in this. He gives himself a moment, then inhales, before reaching out to touch the stone, closing his eyes for a second. Then, he turns away and begins on the road out of the cemetery and towards Felix’s house. 

Unlike Sylvain, Felix does visit home. Not as often as Rodrigue wants him to, but the time spent has increased in recent years. There is still friction, and Sylvain hopes one day things will ease. Especially today, as he doesn’t have the mental energy to deal with it.

The streets have changed just enough to be confusing while familiar, but he only takes one wrong turning before he arrives at the house. He knocks, and after a moment, Rodrigue opens the door, smiling as he moves out of the entrance. 

“Sylvain, welcome back. How did it go?” he asks, voice the perfect pitch of sympathy and general enquiry. 

“Not sure really,” he admits, as they step through the entry way and into the sitting room. 

Rodrigue makes a noise of understanding, then gestures to the soft, where tea already sits out, and Sylvain sits down gratefully. Rodrigue pours him a cup and Sylvain takes it, fingers chilled from the outside air. Unlike his own father, Rodrigue has always been happy for the two of them, and Sylvain feels genuinely welcome here. He just finds it hard to be in a town he’d spent so long running from. 

“Loss is a part of life, but we still do not want to accept it when it happens. It’s never easy,” he says, slow and measured and Sylvain blinks at the tone. Rodrigue sighs and puts down his cup. 

“I did not react well to losing Glenn. And I’ve paid the price for that, still pay it every day,” he says, and Sylvain knows his mouth is opening in shock but he can’t stop it. 

He recalls that day, how much he’d hated Rodrigue for how he addressed Felix in the wake of Glenn’s death. Although part of him still holds a bit of a grudge, he can see with the clearness of adulthood, how that could happen. Rodrigue did not know how to cope in that moment, and said something he regrets to this day. Adults are not infallible, and death brings out things feelings which cannot be contained. But Sylvain is brought out of his thoughts by Rodrigue speaking once more. 

“All I am saying Sylvain is that you have a place here, while you go through whatever you need to. I know that you and your family have not been close for a while, but they are still your family, and that is tough to part from, even if it is for the best” he says. 

“Yeah,” Sylain says with a heavy exhale, and Rodrigue offers him a smile, before they go back to their tea in silence. 

“He’s upstairs, when you’re ready,” Rodrigue says once his cup is finished, and Sylvain laughs a little, before going in search of his boyfriend. 

It doesn’t take long, for Felix haunts a few rooms in his childhood home, and today it’s his old bedroom. Despite Feix living and interning in a different city, his father hasn’t changed the room since he left; there’s still a few old pieces of clothing in the wardrobe, photos and posters scattered around, a shelf full of books he read many years ago. A little piece of the past to return to. 

“Did my old man keep you?” he asks, sitting up from where he’s lounging on the bed with a book. 

“Gave me tea and a pep talk. I think that’s his blessing,” Sylvain says before flopping down on Felix, who huffs, and pokes him none too gently in the ribs until he moves off. 

Felix glares for a few moments to show his unhappiness at being squashed, before his face softens. 

“How did it go?” he asks, lifting a hand to smooth out the creases in Sylvain’s forehead. Sylvain melts a little into the touch, even as hollowness bubbles up. 

“Fine. He left me a letter, one he never sent. Wished me well, apologising. I keep wondering if...if he had maybe I could have had my brother. Even if it was only for a little while,” he says, thoughts knitting together as he speaks. 

Felix is quiet, then sighs, folding Sylvain into his arms. 

“You’ll never know,” he says, blunt but true in a way that Sylvain appreciates. Felix doesn’t offer platitudes, or hope when there isn’t. It means more to Sylvain to have truth after a life full of falseness, no holds barred. Despite this, he slips into melancholy thoughts. 

“I know, but...I could have some family,” he says, hating how his voice catches. 

“You don’t need any of them as family. They don’t deserve to have you. Plus, you have me,” Felix says, and Sylvain’s heart does something like a trip and a jump, sparking off tendrils of a hope not yet explored, and he looks up to see Felix’s cheeks burning. 

“A-and Ingrid, and Bernie, and Mercie and hell even Dimitri-Sylvain stop looking at me,” he hisses and tries to wiggle away from his grasp as Sylvain laughs and pulls Felix on top of him. 

“You love me,” he says, gleeful and without questioning, and Felix huffs. 

“Obviously. I’m still with you,” he says, smiling, and Sylvain leans up to kiss him, deep and sweet, practiced and full of care and longing. 

Felix sighs as they part, leaning down to rest his head against Sylvain’s neck. 

“I should go help with dinner. The old man can’t cook anything that doesn’t involve a microwave. Honestly, how does he even keep upright,” Felix mutters, placing one kiss on his neck before slowly getting up. 

“I’ll come down in a minute,” he says, thinking perhaps Felix does need a moment with his father. 

Felix nods, then frowns. “Are you sure you’re okay?” he asks, and Sylvain smiles. 

“I will be,” he says, sticking to the truth. 

* * *

Dorothea and Petra marry on a beach as the sun sets. It’s the most gorgeous wedding Sylvain’s ever seen, with he and Mercie crying their way through the whole ceremony. It’s the same beach Petra grew up near, and her grandfather makes the most touching speech, mentioning how truly proud he is of both his daughters. Dorothea’s perfectly calm facade drops at this, and not a single dry eye is seen. 

“Remind me to find my shoes before I go to bed,” she says with a laugh as Sylvain twirls her in a dance, the train of her dress flying out behind her in a perfect arch as they cross the beach. 

“Shoe duty, got it,” Sylvain says, and she tips her head back and laughs. 

He dances with Bernie, who several drinks in is more than happy to try the dance-floor while Lin naps at the table. Sylvain is tired and slightly buzzed, the luminous green cocktails he’s been drinking for hours still buzzing in his head. 

“I don’t think I’ll do a big wedding. Or get married. Maybe I’ll elope,” Bernie says as they start up another song, more swaying than actually dancing. 

“Is that a thought or a plan?” he asks, and Bernie grins. 

“You’ll be the first to know, I need a witness after all,” she says, and he stops what he’s doing to hug her tightly until she taps his back to let go. 

“This is after you publish that book, right?” he says and she buries her head in her hands, while Sylvain shakes his head. 

“It was good! And my colleague said it was a masterpiece. Hell, even Felix liked it, not that he knows it was by you,” he adds as Bernie looks as if she may jump into the sea. 

“I’m amazed he has time to read, what with the new job and all,” she says, and Sylvain nods. 

It’s been busy with Felix deciding to work with his father’s company. He’s set on changing up how it all works, ushering in a new era. It’s a lot, but he’s happy, even if he and Rodrigue don’t see eye to eye. Sylvain thinks he’s glad he’s decided to carve his own way and still keep his family connections close. 

“Yeah, what with that and Seteth priming me deputy head of the department next year, it’s a lot. But we’re on vacation! And seriously, my colleague worked in a publishing firm, he can get you a meeting,” Sylvain says, and Bernadetta’s eyes widen, before she pulls him to the bar, conversation done but not forgotten. 

Felix finds them after, and they wander off slightly away from the guests, dipping their toes in the still cool sea. He looks good, suit pants rolled up to his knees, hair falling from the braid Annette had done hours ago, time and it’s stubbornness setting it free. Sylvain takes a moment just to absorb the moment, this time and all his feelings. 

He’s surrounded by love. By two of his best friends celebrating their relationship, by all of them coming together to laugh and enjoy the day. By having Felix here, looking beautiful in the half light, kicking waves like he did when they were children. 

“What?” Felix says abruptly, catching the stare. 

“Nothing. Well, not nothing. Today’s a good day,” he says. 

Felix smiles, and offers a hand, twinning their fingers together. “Yeah, it is,” he says, before letting go of his hand to wrap an arm around Sylvain’s waist, keeping him close. 

_ Maybe one day, it will be our turn to do this _ , he thinks, then lets it slide away. All in it’s own time. 

Sylvain closes his eyes and thinks that there is nowhere else in the world he’d rather be. He turns at a shout though, Annette sprinting over and jumping knee deep into the waves, dress hiked up and splashes Felix full in the face. He yelps, and throws his jacket on the sand behind him, rolling up his sleeves and charging at her. Sylvain laughs until his stomach aches, watching his two friends drench each other in the water, and as they turn, he sees  _ Return _ flash on Felix’s arm. 

A strange feeling of calmness sets in, as for the first time in his life, Sylvain realises something crucial, which has always existed, as love flows around and resonates within. That no matter what might have happened, this is what he would have aimed for, wished for, and now he has it, will do his best to keep for as long as he’s able. 

As honestly, he doesn’t need a mark or words to know he and Felix are soulmates.

It’s just a nice reminder the universe agrees. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, thank you for reading! 
> 
> You can find me on [Twitter](http://www.twitter.com/EnlacingL/)

**Author's Note:**

> More coming soon! In the meantime, you can find me on: [Twitter](http://www.twitter.com/EnlacingL/) and [Tumblr](http://enlacinglineswrites.tumblr.com)
> 
> Edit: There is now art for this fic, [please take a look](https://twitter.com/EnlacingL/status/1243297055025565696)


End file.
